


Tadfield's Finest

by MrsCaulfield



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Banter during sex, Bathroom Sex, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Office Sex, Pining while fucking, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Crowley (Good Omens), Public Sex, Service Top Crowley (Good Omens), this is slightly crackish pls dont take it too seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:35:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 51,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23860924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsCaulfield/pseuds/MrsCaulfield
Summary: The sleepy town of Tadfield is thoroughly shaken by the arrival of DI Crowley. Where barely anything ever happened before, there is now a bustle of low grade criminal activity, and everyone knows where to point the blame. Gabriel thinks he's a bad omen for the town, many others are quick to agree. Meanwhile, Aziraphale from SOCO just thinks he's hot. Ridiculously so.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 317
Kudos: 709
Collections: GO Human AUs, Top Crowley Library





	1. All That

**Author's Note:**

> Rating set to E for incoming chapters containing sexual content. 
> 
> The plot of this fic has nothing in common with that of Broadchurch (starring David Tennant as DI Alec Hardy!), only the premise is the same. I'm also not planning to add crimes that are too complex or dramatic, as I want this fic to be as lighthearted as possible. But it is best enjoyed when you've seen the show, simply because it's so much fun to think of David playing detective both as Alec AND as Crowley. (Also it's a thoroughly excellent show and has Olivia Colman in it)
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I do not claim to be an expert on how UK police stations are structured and how the process of CSI is performed. Everything I know just came from watching Broadchurch and a few forensic resource websites. Hope you'll excuse me if I've taken some liberties to facilitate the love story.

“ _PULSIFER!_ ”

The menacing voice echoed through the taped-off premises of Rosethorn Cottage, billowing through the first floor corridor and into the masters bedroom where Aziraphale stood by the remnants of a shattered window. They all startled at the sound. Uriel and Sandalphon were up on their feet in an instant.

“ _Shit,_ ” grumbled Uriel. She had been taking photos of the hauled out dressers on the floor across the room. “Just fucking _great_.”

Aziraphale stood his ground, not knowing how to reply, or what to expect really. His latex-covered hand clutched a shard of glass as he tucked it safely into a plastic bag. Footsteps were approaching them, and a dark tone had already settled over the room.

He had never met the notorious DI Crowley before. Or at least, had never been in the same room as him. Aziraphale had only caught glimpses of the new DI who’d worked two decades for the Met before getting transferred to Tadfield station. He’d been the talk of the town when he moved here about a month ago. What’s a guy who spent half of his life working on double murders in central London doing in the sleepy village of Tadfield?

Aziraphale had been in CSI for Tadfield for five years, and hardly anything happened here. Officers usually dealt with drownings, traffic accidents, and the occasional drug dealing. Forensics were even less occupied. Everyone had gossiped about it behind their backs. Everyone knew everyone in Tadfield, after all. Yet for some odd reason, upon the arrival of the new DI, crimes in Tadfield shot up spectacularly. A _bad omen_ , his boss Gabriel had called it.

In the few weeks since the newcomer had arrived, he’d already caused quite a stir. The smug and loud-mouthed detective didn’t garner much fans among the natives, as you probably can imagine. Aziraphale knew well that the people of Tadfield didn’t take kindly to outsiders. Both Uriel and Sandalphon have already had the misfortune of working with him. He was rude and openly berated everyone in the room at the slightest sign of incompetence. Aziraphale didn’t know what to make of it. They’d always been lax at the station, owing to the fact that (as aforementioned) _nothing_ ever happened here. But for the first time in years, they were now dealing with more serious offences, and everyone has been on edge under Crowley’s new management as a result.

The footsteps got closer still. Aziraphale could hear their voices now. He took a deep breath.

“Any news with Dagon on the CCTV footage?”

“They seem to have um… lost the perpetrator, sir,” replied DS Newt Pulsifer.

“They’ve what?!”

“It appears they’ve ducked into an alley—”

“ _For god_ _’s sssake!_ ” Crowley yelled, banging a fist onto the wall as his lean frame came at last into alignment with the open door. Aziraphale felt the strongest urge to wrap him up in protective wear, as the detective had on his usual all-black suit, though he had the feeling that would be most unwelcome. At the very least, he did bother to put on coverings for his shoes and did not venture into the room any further. “Please tell me there’s _one_ person here with more than half a working brain.”

Crowley stared down the room’s three inhabitants, his face partially obscured by black sunglasses which he apparently wore everywhere. Uriel and Sandalphon already had their glares set as they stared right back. Crowley ignored them and carried on talking. “There better be some good fucking news.”

Newt cleared his throat. “Walter claims the house had been burgled while he was out shopping, and that they were still here by the time he got back and escaped by jumping out of a window. Hopefully we can find proof of that.”

All eyes turned silently to Newt, watching him comprehend the shards of broken glass that littered Aziraphale’s feet, as well as the huge gaping hole in the center of the window frame.

“Take a look, idiot.” Uriel sneered. She had very little patience for Newt’s antics.

Crowley turned to her, head tilted. “Is that you, Uriel?” His tone was mock-friendly, but smooth. It was the kind of voice that slithered its way into you. “Can never tell with those suits. You SOCOs all look alike.”

Aziraphale patted self consciously at his pristine white boiler suit, fidgeting with a loose part of fabric by his hip. His nose and mouth was obscured by a protective mask, and his own breathing was so loud to him.

Newt cleared his throat again, desperate to cut the rising tension in the room. “Is there anything of note here?” Aziraphale was relieved to see that the DS was at least in full protective wear.

“Well,” said Sandalpon, “we’ve started with a thorough combing of the place—”

“Yes, we always _love_ hearing from Sandalphon.” Crowley cut in, drawling with sarcasm. Sandalphon shot him a murderous look which he ignored. “Talk to me in bullets. I haven’t got all day.”

Uriel was just about at her breaking point. “You aren’t our boss, you know. You’ve no right to be that rude.”

If Crowley had heard this remark at all, he didn’t show it. His eyes landed on the only person in the room who had yet to speak.

“ _You_.” He pointed at Aziraphale with a lax expression. “What’ve you got?”

Fuck. Aziraphale had hoped he’d be excluded from this conversation. He tried to speak, but suddenly forgot how to. Crowley’s gaze bore straight into him, even from a distance, and Aziraphale found it hard to look away from his chiseled cheekbones. His lean frame and devilishly strong jawline. _Christ,_ he was attractive.

Uriel decided to speak for him. “ _Fell_ here actually found vital piece of evidence. A trace of cloth and some blood. Likely the burglar’s.”

Crowley’s face lit up like a child on Christmas. “Outstanding!” His hand stretched out towards Aziraphale. “Let me see it.”

With careful steps, Aziraphale walked over to him. The journey was a vignette of Crowley’s features gradually coming to greater definition. Up close, he could see the minute inflections of his spiked up red hair and the coarse texture of a scruff blanketing his neck and jaw. He mentally berated himself as he handed Crowley the bag, where a snagged piece of fabric hung to a glass shard. This was the _worst_ possible time to be fantasizing about the hot DI.

“Hm. Where’s the blood?” Crowley’s fingers, long and bony, felt around the bag as he inspected it closely.

Aziraphale realized that he really needed to talk now. Deftly, he pulled his mask below his chin. “On the ledge. Um. The inside of it. Interestingly.”

Crowley snapped up to look at him after he spoke. He forced himself to meet his eyes. It was easy enough to do, as the focus on a couple of shaded lenses kept his own gaze from trailing elsewhere on the DI’s face. Crowley’s lips stretched into an amused grin. Aziraphale continued. “The miscreant may have wounded themself while they were trying to break in through the back door with a knife. I’ll um, try to lift some prints off it and compare with the ones we obtained from the kitchen.”

Crowley took a while to respond. He wondered if he too was being given the cold shoulder, but it made no sense if he was. He was still staring at Aziraphale, much in the same way that he’d stared at the evidence bag. It filled him with an odd thrill of sorts. He winced, instantly halting that train of thought. _Stop being weird, Aziraphale!_

“Who are you?”

Aziraphale tried for a polite smile. He counted it as a small victory that Crowley hasn’t said any scathing remarks so far. He’d rather not amplify his presence to a man this intense, no matter how ridiculously fit he was. “Aziraphale Fell,” he said in a breathy voice.

Crowley looked him up and down and handed him back the plastic bag. Aziraphale prepared himself for any cruel words to come. “You’re so _bright,_ ” Crowley muttered as if the fact annoyed him.

He turned back from the doorway and disappeared into the corridor, leaving Aziraphale a puzzled wreck.

Newt hesitated by the entrance, looking toward Aziraphale. “Hey, I’m really sorry about him.” Aziraphale was about to make some reassurances when he was cut off.

“ _PULSIFER!_ ”

Newt jolted and scurried off to follow him. “Coming, sir!”

* * *

Back at the police station, Aziraphale met with Anathema Device, his closest friend and lab technician for Forensics. One by one, he placed the bags of evidence in front of her, meticulously reading the labels.

“So,” she began. Aziraphale instantly knew what this meant. His feisty American friend always had a habit of meddling with his personal life. “How was he? Famous Inspector Anthony J Crowley?”

Aziraphale kept his gaze trained on the bags, willing his innards to quiet down. “He was interesting.” A couple of bags had lacking info on the labels, likely from his coworkers. He’d never be prompted to submit any evidence bags missing any potentially crucial info. Recalling what he could, he penned in the additional details. It’s no use handing them back to his coworkers. They’d only make fun of him.

“Is he as bad as everyone says he is?”

“Not sure,” he answered truthfully. “But I know he certainly doesn’t like Uriel and Sandalphon.”

“That doesn’t say much about him, but it confirms what we know about _them_.”

Aziraphale chuckled. Most of the people in Forensics were straight up jerks, save only for their boss Gabriel, who was kind of unfortunately dumb. “I only saw him for a few seconds. Barely even two full minutes.” And yet what an impact it had on him.

“More importantly, is he as _hot_ as everyone says he is?”

Aziraphale blushed, nodding. He busied himself with arranging the bags alphabetically in front of him. “Evidently so.”

Anathema’s hands slammed down on the desk. “Come on, Aziraphale! You’ve been stalking the man for weeks!”

“I-what! How _dare_ you insinuate—” Anathema looked at him pointedly. “—I was not stalking him!”

“You can’t even go down to CID anymore without undressing him with your eyes.” The evidence storage room was situated downstairs on a side-corridor from the detectives’ workspace. Aziraphale, being the only one in Forensics able to keep track of how the items were stored, often went down and caught glimpses of Crowley sauntering about the room. “Stop being shy and cute about it, Aziraphale. Besides. I hear he’s single.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened at the implication. “ _Heavens._ Leave it, Anathema! That’s preposterous.”

“But it’s perfect!” Anathema pouted, her long raven locks swinging over her shoulders. “He’s available, you’re available. You work in the same office _and_ you’re around the same age! I can already feel the sexual tension building.”

“I can’t imagine _any_ sexual tension oozing off a pudgy man in a hazmat suit,” he deadpanned, then added, “He couldn’t even tell us apart.”

Anathema huffed and fixed him with a stern look. Barely in her mid-twenties, she was much younger than Aziraphale, but she always knew how to slap some sense into him. “Will you give yourself some credit? You’re far from unattractive. Plus, unlike all the other dolts in Forensics, you’re smart and interesting, and if Crowley doesn’t see that then that’s a huge loss on _his_ part.”

Aziraphale shot her a grateful smile. Still, the idea of Crowley being at all attracted to him seemed so laughable. How could such an aesthetically perfect man find anything in him worth knowing? They were worlds apart. Plus, he wasn’t even sure if he’d like the man’s personality. “He really is rather intense. I’m not sure what to make of it.”

“The guy just needs to get laid.”

“Anathema!”

Her smile grew cheeky. Aziraphale glared. Surely someone like Crowley probably never had any trouble in _that_ department. Anyone with eyes can see his maddeningly sinful hips swinging about and be completely at his mercy. And what a lucky person they’d be indeed, Aziraphale thought with some bitterness.

He couldn’t even remember when was the last time he went on a date with someone, much less slept with them. Aziraphale has never met anyone who he really connected with. Many guys he’d dated were attracted by his interesting personality, but sooner or later they grew tired of his sedentary lifestyle. It was enough for him to get a bit jaded with it all, preferring to his own company. Making the huge decision to move from London to Tadfield hasn’t changed any of that.

Someone knocked on the already open door, and in stepped Newt, smiling widely at Anathema. “ _Who_ needs to get laid?”

Anathema lit up, bounded to him and drew him in for a deep and sloppy kiss. “Oh, Aziraphale and I were just talking about the DI.”

Newt groaned. “God, don’t remind me. I’m on break right now. Out of sight, out of mind please.”

“Uh…” Aziraphale stared dumbly at them. They turned to look at him at the same time. “Sorry, h-how long has this been going on?” He gestured towards the two of them.

“Oh yeah! Sorry, forgot to tell you,” Anathema replied. “We hooked up last night.”

Aziraphale blinked. “You hooked up… with _DS Pulsifer_?”

It was hardly the first thing he’d expected. Still, as long as they were happy.

“Yes.” She turned back to Newt. “Anyway, I was just telling him how badly your boss needs to get some action as well.”

“Lord above, _yes_.” Newt’s exhausted reply surprised him. “The man’s in need of a shag. Unfortunately it demands human sacrifice.”

“You mean he really isn’t seeing anyone?” Aziraphale asked, unable to contain his curiosity.

Newt shook his head. “Not that I know of, at least. And I’m pretty much with him all the time. CID is _swamped_ right now, so I doubt he has the time. I kinda feel bad for him actually.”

It didn’t escape his notice when he had been staring that Crowley looked tired, and undoubtedly very skinny. Aziraphale wondered if he still had time to eat at all, with the barrel of new cases that have come up. He knew firsthand how difficult it was to maintain a clear head on those case files while on an empty stomach. He should be taking care of himself more—

 _Stop that!_ Aziraphale nipped those thoughts in the bud. He barely even knew the man! Why should he care about when he’d last eaten a full meal? _Stop being so weird about him._

* * *

Aziraphale wandered back to his desk just moments before Gabriel came over to talk to him. He prepared himself once again. One always needed to prepare themself before talking to Gabriel—prepare a ton of inner strength and patience.

“Fell!” In came the familiar greeting. His coworkers rarely remembered his first name, but luckily he was bestowed with the simplest surname in existence and they stuck to that instead. “Just the man I wanted to see. How are ya?” Gabriel’s award-winning smile was plastered on his face. His light grey suit was well-fitted to his frame. Aziraphale knew perfectly well his boss spent more time at the local tailor’s than at the station.

“Quite well, thank you.” He waited for the oncoming request. _Just tell me what you need and leave._

“As you know, we are unfortunately short-staffed at the moment—”

Of course. Michael was on maternity leave. Going predictably well so far.

“—and I’m afraid we’re gonna need you to cover more night shifts. Just for a while.”

Yep. His boss was just _full of surprises_. “I already worked the most hours last month, sir. And—”

“Fell, I’m sorry. I’d ask anyone else if I could, but you’re the only one who can do it.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips. _You mean I_ _’m the only one without a family to get home to._ His office certainly abused that well. He sighed. “Right. I suppose I don’t have a choice on the matter.”

“You don’t.” Gabriel smiled. “Glad you understand. We’re under a lot of pressure right now, and I’m going to need that compiled report on the King case from last week by tomorrow instead of Wednesday as originally scheduled.”

Aziraphale shot up. “What? But that’s unfair! I’m nowhere even close to finishing!”

“Don’t worry about it, Fell.” Gabriel set a hand on his shoulder. Aziraphale felt like it burned him. “I have faith in you.”

* * *

And that was how he resolved to stay the night at the station to finish up that stupid report. Aziraphale didn’t have a computer at home. In fact, his home barely had anything. He spent most of his time at the station and eating out whenever he could that there was hardly anything he needed to leave behind in that bare cottage.

The entire floor was empty. Everyone had gone home to their families while Aziraphale stayed on his old dark grey desk. His eyes burned from staring at the computer screen for too long, but he made steady work with each of the folders stacked before him.

At this time of day, the station took on an eerie appearance. The walls were all a bland off-white and dark grey and there was scarcely any lighting available. While most people would find this a bit frightening, Aziraphale reveled in the times that he got to be alone like this. It brought him a feeling of peace and solitude that he rarely got nowadays.

His stomach growled. It looked like it was time for some midnight snacks. He headed over to the kitchen, where he kept a stock of beans and toast (however toasted it could be without having an actual toaster) for nights such as this. He set about to making it, and with dismay noted that the microwave was busted.

He frowned. Food was terribly bland when they weren’t heated. Some may have called him fussy, but he was only being sensible. Why bother eating at all if your food isn’t up to your own standards?

The microwave at CID should be working fine. Setting his snack on a plate, he ventured out to the corridor and trudged down the stairs, walking through eerily silent and dimly lit paths with no trouble at all. He was exceedingly familiar with the place, and with Tadfield moreover, in the several years that he’d lived here.

With relief, he noted that all the desks were completely empty. The people on shift were probably out on some task. He didn’t feel like explaining to anyone why he’d needed to come down here. They may work in the same building, but the detectives were strangely protective of their space and hardly anyone from Forensics came down here unless they needed to. It was an unspoken agreement that they best keep to their own floors. The exception would be Newt, whom hardly anyone ever noticed and who regularly stopped by upstairs on the basis of some errand he was sent to do.

Huh. Then perhaps him hooking up with Anathema shouldn’t have been a surprise at all.

He entered the room and turned to the side towards the kitchen, and stopped dead in his tracks.

The DI’s office was held in a separate room but, similar to how Gabriel’s office was set upstairs, it had large glass windows that allowed you to peer in. It had taken seconds for him to realize that the ambient lighting of the room had come from the well-lit office housing its sole occupant.

His heart stopped. Crowley’s frame was bent over the desk, arms flailed out at his sides as his head nestled on a pile of scattered papers. His red hair stuck out wildly, and his fingers twitched subtly while his mouth hung ajar. Aziraphale felt his heart clench. Crowley had passed out.

Not knowing what to do, he scurried off to the kitchen as silently as he could. When he set the microwave to work, the sound scratched raw at his ears, his blood pressure alarmingly shooting up as he willed it not to make so much noise for fear of waking Crowley up. When he’d reclaimed the plate of food, he sneaked a quick look back at Crowley.

He approached the entryway to the office. Crowley hadn’t even shut the door. For a while, Aziraphale stood there, trying to decide what to do. The smattering of case files littered about, some had fallen on the floor. He dropped down and compiled what he could. He wasn’t familiar with all of them, but it was easy enough to figure out which pages were connected. He set them on a neat pile by Crowley’s elbow.

With slight alarm, he realized that Newt was right. CID was absolutely swamped. They were all stretched with work, but none moreso than Crowley. Aziraphale can’t even imagine how it must be for him. This wasn’t a scheduled kip that he’d set a phone alarm to wake up to. Crowley had passed out from exhaustion, strewing papers all over. Asleep, his features were much more relaxed, but no less handsome. There's a tattoo of a coiled snake by the side of his ear that he hadn't noticed before. Aziraphale forced himself to look away, lest he actually became a stalker, true to Anathema’s insinuations.

He left the plate of food at Crowley’s desk. Hopefully he’d eat it when he woke up. He wondered if he will. Wouldn’t it be strange to suddenly find some food on your desk after you’d accidentally fallen asleep?

Grabbing a pen and note pad, he scrawled down a quick message in his distinctly pointed script. _“You mustn’t work on an empty stomach!”_

He stared at the note for a long moment. What was he doing? Crowley probably didn’t even remember his name. Not to mention his coworkers seemed to despise him. _Even so,_ countered the other part of his brain, _someone who works this hard deserves a certain level of kindness._

Aziraphale stuck the note on the porcelain’s edge and quickly strode out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think so far! I'm curious to know what you think of DI Crowley and SOCO Fell :)


	2. Cut to the Feeling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for all the kind comments and kudos from the first chapter! On with the next one.

About three days later, Aziraphale once again found himself working a night shift. There were plenty of reports to sort through. A suspect had been brought in for the burglary case, and he needed to look into the crumbs of glass that was found in some of his clothing. It was all tedious work, and he briefly looked away from the computer screen (LCD screens really must be a product personally made by hell) to hold his head in his hands.

He needed fuel. Anathema had brought him a box of his favorite muffins from Madame Tracy’s earlier that day. The embossed logo on its purple box beckoned him. Right then, time to eat. He grabbed the box and headed downstairs to CID.

Dagon was there on a desk when he arrived, her ears covered by atrociously large headphones as she listened to some tapes from the day’s interviews. It was so dark here. Aziraphale had no idea why detectives always preferred to work in this horrid lighting. Perhaps that was why they always looked tired. Dagon’s head snapped up when he entered. “Why’re you here, Fell?”

“Um. Hello.” He smiled in a polite way. He was, after all, trespassing into foreign territory. “I will just be making use of the microwave for a wee bit.”

Dagon shrugged and placed her headphones back on. Aziraphale took that as a signal of approval. He walked over to the kitchen. Crowley’s office was closed this time, and the blinds on his windows were drawn, but there was a bit of light peeking through the slats. He was likely still inside and asleep again. Just how often did he spend the night in there?

He watched as the plate of muffins rotated on the glass disk inside the microwave. Should he leave him some food again? Did Crowley even appreciate that gesture the last time? He had more than enough muffins. Maybe he can leave some by his office door?

_What has gotten into me?_

Since when did he care about his coworkers’ state of affairs? Barely anyone ever cared about _him_. He shook off the thoughts and rubbed the sleepiness out of his eyes. His brain sure got into a bunch of weird thoughts during this time of the night.

“What’re you doing?” uttered a familiar, chilling voice from behind.

Aziraphale, who had been leaning over the microwave box, jumped. He whirled around to see that Crowley had ventured out of his office and was watching Aziraphale with light interest. Aziraphale clutched his chest. His heart pounded so hard he felt like his ribs might give way.

“I’m so sorry!” he exclaimed, his face warming up. His eyes darted around the room, and in a panic he spun back to the microwave, pressed Stop, and seized the plate with his bare hands. Apparently, the microwave wasn’t too fond of that as the porcelain burned his skin. He recoiled. “ _Bollocks!_ ” He glanced back at Crowley, who had on an irritating smirk by this time. “I’m very sorry, Crowley. I’ll be out of your hair in two shakes—” as soon as he could bear to handle his hot damn muffins.

Unable to bear more of Crowley’s silent scrutiny, he gathered the tail of his jacket in his palm and used it as a handle to grab the plate of food. It was set down on the counter between them, its warm fragrance diffusing through the emptiness of the room.

Crowley leaned over the countertop, one hand on the marble surface. He crossed his legs. “Aziraphale, right? What’re you up to?”

Aziraphale’s mind was still reeling about which marathon he had just participated in without his knowledge, because his knees were quite ready to give way right about now. “The um, microwave upstairs is busted.”

“And you needed a nibble at two in the morning?” Crowley didn’t have his sunglasses on. His eyes shone with amusement in the dim room.

“I got peckish.” He couldn’t resist running a cursory gaze over Crowley’s wiry body. He wasn’t wearing a coat, and the sleeves of his dark shirt were pushed up to his elbows, revealing smooth skin over toned forearms. _Lord grant me strength._

“You’re an odd one, aren’t you?”

“ _You_ _’re_ one to talk. You need to eat more if you plan on passing out on top of case files every night.”

Crowley’s eyes widened a bit _(beautiful amber orbs that they were)_ at some realization. “S’not like I do it on purpose. I just forget to eat sometimes.”

“Now that is the real crime here.”

To his surprise, a genuine chuckle sounded out to his ears. Dimples formed on the DI’s cheeks. How _adorable._ A thrill ran through him at the idea that he’d made Crowley laugh, and he couldn’t resist smiling a bit as well. He pushed the plate of muffins over at the DI. “Here, take one.”

Crowley’s smile was replaced by a look of soft surprise. “What? No, it’s fine.”

“I insist.” Crowley was a few inches taller than him. He looked up and, with a pleading look, met his gaze. “Please.”

There was a flicker of an odd look in Crowley’s eyes. Something real. Something dark. But it passed quickly before he could dwell on it. Crowley took one of the muffins and bit off a large piece. Aziraphale was entranced by the way his mouth closed in on the chocolate surface, his tongue darting out afterwards to lick crumbs off his lips.

Aziraphale snapped out of the trance, and forced himself to look back into Crowley’s eyes. Was it just him, or was there a hint of smugness in there? He didn’t want to find out, already mortified at having been caught staring.

“Thanks for the toast, by the way.” Crowley spun on his heel and returned to the confines of his office.

* * *

It was a little past noon when DI Anthony J Crowley barged into the home of one recently deceased James Tylney, aged 64. This man lived alone, and who knew how long he’d been lying there before the weekly cleaning lady went in and found his decomposing body. Divorced. Daughter that lived all the way up in Manchester. It was pretty standard, as far as cases went with Crowley. A couple of uniformed officers made way for his entrance with a subtle glare. This was supposed to be Pulsifer’s case. They weren’t expecting him to come.

His phone buzzed endlessly in his hand. He clutched it with a death grip as he looked about the room and spotted the bumbling DS. “Pulsifer! What the fuck? Explain yourself!”

A couple of SOCOs had also turned to look at him at his outburst. Tylney’s body laid on the floor a little ways off the couch. Pulsifer trudged over, his head hung low. “Sir, I—”

“I thought I’d given direct orders not to release the man’s name until we’ve obtained the daughter’s _consssent_.” He attempted to keep his emotions in check, but the rage was boiling in him, his marked tendency to slip his s’s making an appearance. “Look what we have now! A bunch of wagging tongues saying there’s a murderer on the loose!”

“I may have… accidentally slipped the name to a friend,” replied the DS, resolute in his decision to stare at the floor. “And it somehow found its way to the _Advertiser_ _’s_ official twitter account.”

Crowley whirled back, his fists flailing in the air. “Bloody _twitter_ _!_ Fucking unbelievable you all are.”

He could hear Newt’s scuffling footsteps trailing behind him, but he had no wish to hear any more screw ups of this god forsaken police force. Everyone else had cowered away from the scene, trying to mind their own business.

“Sir, I’m really sorry. It was an honest mistake. I didn’t know—”

Crowley halted in his tracks. “Tell you what,” he said, voice low and as menacing as he could make it. “You lot keep this up and you’ll lose the public’s trust. Trust me, you’re gonna need it. Fix. This.”

Pulsifer nodded, trembling.

With that done, he may as well have his own look over the case. It was too late to do damage control now. He tucked his phone into the pocket of his coat and made his way over to the body.

“Right then. What do we have here?” He asked the fully-suited SOCO crouched over the limp figure, taking photos. He froze. The SOCO had a head of soft, platinum curls.

Aziraphale straightened up, turning to look at him. Crowley hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him since the night he caught him taking advantage of the CID’s microwave. And how could he? How does one even go about their lives without conjuring images of those plump red lips and strong broad thighs? He remembered the first time he saw him. Invisible before, but blinding once he pulled down that mask and gazed up at Crowley with heart-stopping blue grey eyes. Everything about him was so bright and glowing. Like an actual angel.

“Hello, Crowley.” Aziraphale greeted him with a real smile. No one else did that. He didn’t exactly give them reason to. Why was Aziraphale doing that?

The rage was still tingling on the tips of his fingers. He shook it off, not wanting to look intimidating. _Fuck, since when did I get soft?_ He had a reputation to maintain.

“Well?” he prompted, nodding his head towards the corpse.

Aziraphale pursed his lips, probably in response to his sudden curtness. Shadows danced on the edges of his mind, wondering how he would react if Crowley bit that jutted lower lip.

“If you are to go gatecrashing on other people’s crime scenes, then you may as well bother with putting on protective wear.” God, the angel was _cross_. How utterly tempting.

“If I’ll go, I go with style,” he replied smoothly.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. He looked back at the corpse. “Well, here is the body, _in situ._ It appears to be in ambient temperature, so I’d say he’s been here about a day or so.” There was a flash of distress on his features. Crowley wondered briefly whether Aziraphale had seen a dead body before.

“What does the pathologist say?”

“The pathologist is, um, running a bit late.” Aziraphale fidgeted with the fabric of his suit. “But there aren’t any bruises or lacerations. No signs of foul play on the body _or_ the surroundings. For all intents and purposes, it appears he just dropped dead.”

Crowley gave his own cursory look over the corpse, confirming Aziraphale’s observations. “Pulsifer!”

“Yes, sir?” Pulsifer called out from across the room.

“Head over to the boiler room.”

“W-why?”

“Just go.” Pulsifer didn’t attempt to argue with his tone. He exited out the back door. Looking back at Aziraphale, Crowley noted that the same glum look was still on his face and it unsettled him a bit. “Hey. You alright?”

“Tip-top, I assure you.” He sounded nothing like it. Aziraphale’s gaze was darting back and forth from the body to his own fidgeting hands. “Sometimes it’s just… bit hard to see.”

“So you haven’t seen a corpse before.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “No, I have. A few times.” His brows were furrowed in deep contemplation. “But it’s deaths like these that make me think.”

“Think about what?”

Aziraphale made a wobbly smile. “About how someday this might be me.”

Crowley was curious to know what he meant by that, but he wouldn’t get to ask since at that moment, another person entered the room, and if the current inhabitants were already frightened from Crowley’s earlier outburst, they were completely cowering now.

Crowley’s lips stretched into a mischievous grin. The short pathologist gave him a steady, unreadable look. “Dr. Beel Prince! Been a while since we last met, eh?”

As usual, Beel glared at him. “ _Crow_ ley.” They always said his name like that, with weird emphasis on the first syllable. “I’ve heard about your arrival to Tadfield. We’ve reason to meet at last.”

The day Crowley discovered that the entire police force of Tadfield were terrified of its local pathologist, he had a field day. Not that he blamed them. He and Beel worked many cases together back when he was with the Met. Beel had always had a staggeringly frightening aura, especially for someone of their small stature. But they were brilliant, and that was all that was important to Crowley. They worked well together, and he wouldn’t lie, life got a tad duller when Beel left London.

It was pure coincidence that they both ended up in Tadfield, though. Crowley, for his part, had no idea Beel was even here until he’d heard Hastur and Ligur’s hushed whispering about _that scary corpse doctor._ It was a relief to see them amongst a sea of unfriendly faces (not that he cared about their unfriendliness, he had an entire force to whip into shape), but it’s unlikely they’d cross paths as often as they did back then. There weren’t as many reasons to die (or be killed) in Tadfield as there were in London.

The two of them made curt small talk over the case. With satisfaction, Crowley noted the increasing discomfort of the people in the room. How he and Beel must’ve looked like to them, as two of the worst of their workplace nightmares, gave him cause for amusement.

“I’ll go and inspect the body now,” said Beel, about to crouch down next to the corpse.

“No need.” Crowley cut in as he saw Pulsifer re-enter the room from the back door. “We’ll have it sent to your lab in a bit. We’re done here.”

Beel tilted their head, their expression showing knowledge that Crowley was being his usual self. “What is it then?”

Aziraphale looked between the two of them, an adorable confusion laced onto his features. Crowley took a breath and grinned as Pulsifer bounded up next to him. So what if he was a little bit showing off?

“Sir,” Pulsifer began, slightly out of breath. “It’s a faulty boiler. There is a leak, and it may have been spewing out carbon monoxide through the heaters for weeks now.”

He carefully watched as Aziraphale’s expression morphed into shock. There was no fighting the grin on Crowley’s face. He kept their gazes locked, satisfied when Aziraphale didn’t look away. “Good job, Pulsifer,” he said, never taking his eyes off Aziraphale. “I may just make a good copper out of you.”

He turned away smoothly, hoping he’d made enough of an impression on those pretty grey eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I couldn't NOT include that iconic Broadchurch reference. 
> 
> Let me know what you think! Kudos are most welcome!!


	3. Curiosity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the feedback from the previous chapters! They're really getting me excited to type out the rest of the story. 
> 
> Also, I have decided that from here on out all chapter titles of this fic will be Carly Rae Jepsen songs because why the heck not? I like to emphasize pining with the proper tunes.
> 
> This chapter's song is 'Curiosity' https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ilWQDko4CCI

Aziraphale could not stop thinking about him.

Try as he might, Crowley permeated his thoughts at all hours of the day. It shocked him. He had never known himself to be capable of being this attracted to someone. There was strong physical attraction, yes. Aziraphale had lost count of how many hours he’d spent thinking of the DI’s sinuous body, how it would feel wrapped around him. His sinful voice, and how it might sound like breathing Aziraphale’s name as he climaxed. _(Lord help him)_ But the real trouble was that Crowley wasn’t just ridiculously, tortuously attractive. He was also brilliant. A capable detective, and his severe approach to his job was only evidence of how much he cared about it. The tough act of his was just as it was, an act. In reality he cared so much that everyone else struggled to meet his standards.

He remembered Aziraphale’s name, when nobody else except Anathema and Newt even bothered to. He wouldn’t have minded being called ‘Fell’. Probably wouldn’t have thought twice about it. But now that he’s heard his name uttered by Crowley a few times, he clung to the memory of the sound like comfort.

With trepidation he noted just how quickly he was falling for the DI. He did not see it coming, but the more he knew about Crowley the deeper his thoughts swirled about him, wanting to know more about him, to listen to him, to spend late nights chatting and laughing together over a good meal. It was a massive departure from the more… _base_ thoughts that he’d had about Crowley before. It was incredibly unfair. He needed to be more careful from now on, or he’s certain he’ll only get his heart broken. And frankly speaking, he was a tad too old for that kind of business.

He was under no delusions. At his time of life, the only fate that still awaited him was the likeliness of a lonely death similar to the one Tylney suffered from.

After all, what would a man like Crowley ever see in him? Crowley was all danger and excitement and _mobility_. A ball of unrestricted dark energy that quelled over its surroundings. Aziraphale was none of those things. He was slow, almost stationary. The eye in the middle of a storm, barely noticeable. Maybe once he and Crowley became close friends, Crowley would find him interesting. He consoled himself with the thought. Not everyone may like him, but people always found him _interesting_ eventually. He was well-read, with vast knowledge across a variety of different topics. He knew where all the best-kept restaurants were. He collected useless knick-knacks, had a habit of nibbling on pens when he was deep in thought, and had the most controversial opinions on various well-known pieces of literature as well as film franchises. Crowley seemed like the type of person to be interested in hearing those things, and by then who knows? He might realize that he was attracted enough to Aziraphale to take him to bed. Maybe fuck the living daylights out of him, the darker portion of his mind supplied.

But it would take a long while before they got to that point, and so he’ll have to wait, banking on a pile of uncertainties.

* * *

He’s walking down the corridor by CID when he saw Crowley, muttering at a mobile in his hand, walking towards Aziraphale’s general direction. The blond took a steadying breath. _Act cool. Don_ _’t make yourself look bad._ Crowley was fast approaching him when he looked up. _Alright, here we go. Cool greeting. Be interesting._ “Hello,” was the brilliant phrase he came up with. His smile was strained.

Crowley returned the greeting with a curt nod.

He was fast slipping away, but Aziraphale had no idea what he could say to continue the interaction. He opened his mouth. Crowley was waiting for whatever it was he had to say when Ligur appeared at his side with a file in his hand and Crowley’s attention was instantly derailed. He had lost his chance. Aziraphale shut his mouth, feeling slightly ashamed as he went on to continue his trek to the storage room with quick, measured strides.

* * *

Anathema had her nose deep in an old book when Aziraphale went back upstairs. She wore her large round glasses, which she did only when she wanted to be serious, or at least to look like she was. Aziraphale ran his gaze over the binding with considerable scrutiny. It was an old book, probably a few hundred years at least. From what few words he could read of the text, he’d say it was around early 1600s or so.

“Anathema…” he prodded. Her head snapped up, as if released from deep reverie. “What are you doing?”

“Hey, Aziraphale.” She closed the book, giving Aziraphale a view of the title. “I visited an old country house at Oxford last weekend, and I found this weird book of prophecies when I did a bit of snooping around.”

Aziraphale noted the purposeful vagueness. She always was an odd one. For all he knew, she probably did something illegal to obtain it. He chose not to prod any further.

“Well. I’m always glad to see people in the mood for some light reading.”

Anathema’s expression changed to all seriousness. “This isn’t some trivial fortune-telling shit, Aziraphale. It’s the real deal. Look.” She turned to one page and spun the book around to face him. “There. Whoever this Agnes Nutter was, she knew to invest in Apple stocks back in the 70s. Imagine how filthy rich you’d be by now if you had a copy of this back then!”

He wasn’t sure how seriously he was supposed to take all this, but it never bode well for anyone to contradict Anathema Device. “I am just puzzled as to how you can be both a woman of science _and_ an occultist at the same time.”

Anathema rolled her eyes. “Men.” She tucked the book back into her bag. “By the way, you talk to your boyfriend yet? He’s in a bit of a rut right now, as I understand it from Newt.”

Heat instantly flooded his face. “Don’t call him that,” he said, even as the fluttering in his stomach said otherwise. “We’ve had a few conversations.”

“He’s been in the interview room with that new suspect for five hours now. Guy’s a tough nut to crack.”

Worry flashed over on Aziraphale’s face. If this suspect wouldn’t confess under Crowley’s questioning, he had no idea who else would be capable. Dr. Prince, maybe? If only it weren’t a huge breach in protocol. “That sure is something.”

“I shouldn’t even care about this,” she said, hands raised in exasperation. “But your DI drags everyone else down with him whenever he’s in a bad mood. He has Newt in panicked circles all the time and I’m tired of always having to reassure him whenever his boss acts up.”

Aziraphale rushes to defend him. “You have to understand Crowley’s position as well. He is under a lot of pressure, and it’ll be on his head if these cases don’t come to a resolution. Anathema. He’s not a pleasant sort of person, but you cannot fault him for doing his job.”

She paused to take this all in, pressed her lips into a tight smile. “I guess that’s true. I hate it when you’re being rational for once.”

He smiled and placed a comforting hand on her arm. “Newt likes you a great deal and you, my dear, are very strong. You’ll both get through this.”

“Thanks,” she replied meaningfully. It was rare for him to see her in a moment of true vulnerability, but he tried to be there for her just as much as she had been for him. “But seriously, if you could get him to lighten up a smidge it’d be tons appreciated.”

Aziraphale laughed it off. As if he had any power of that sort over Crowley.

* * *

There was not much use to going home that night, so he decided to stay at the station. It wasn’t as if he would be able to sleep anyway. He had slight bouts of insomnia every now and then, and his preferred way of coping with it was to be as productive as possible. And this was his greatest chance so far to exercise it, what with the amount of cases they’ve been dealing with.

But before that, of course, dinner needed to be dealt with. He carried his sandwich over to CID. It was in its usual grim-looking state. He passed by Hastur on the way. The DS didn’t even give him so much as a glance. There was only one brightly glowing computer in the room, which probably meant that Hastur would be returning shortly.

The door to the DI’s office was wide open. Inside was Crowley, pacing back and forth, running frantic hands through his ruffled hair, muttering wildly. He wasn’t wearing his sunglasses. Aziraphale noted the bags under his eyes.

Once the food had been heated, he knocked on the office door. Crowley’s head snapped up, shock momentarily arresting his features.

“Hey,” he greeted, barely louder than a whisper. “Are you quite alright? Do you want some company?”

Crowley looked confused for a moment. He made a wild gesture with his hand. “Sure. Shut the door, will you? Hastur’s face has really put me off.”

Aziraphale entered the room fully, closing the door behind him. “Whenever I am in a bit of a strop,” he began, smiling gently, “it always helps when I could prattle on and on about it to my friend Anathema. She doesn’t even need to say anything in return. I just needed a sounding board.”

The DI only looked at him, his hair spiked up in all directions. He looked a bit like a child. Then, he began to talk. He talked about the suspect, about the alibis he gave—alibis _plural_. He piled lies on top of lies and Crowley had to go through all the effort of unraveling one just to encounter another. Aziraphale listened as promised. He took half of the sandwich and left the rest on its plate which he placed on top of Crowley’s desk. Crowley kept pacing, round and round the room, his voice rising with fury, his arms flailing. The DI’s black shirt clung tightly to his chest, two buttons left open to hint at ginger hair on pale skin. The sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, and he allowed himself that moment of relishing the view. Aziraphale had finished eating before Crowley was even done talking. He responded kindly, making his sympathy well known. Crowley even took a few bites of the sandwich.

“I know it’s him.” His words rung with finality as his fist pounded on the desk. “Certain of it. What am I missing? How do I crack him?”

“You aren’t missing anything, Crowley,” he replied. This was a solidly built case, Crowley had made sure of it. “Maybe you’re just not being intimidating enough.”

There was a change in Crowley’s stature. He straightened up, his nostrils flaring as he fixed Aziraphale with a chilling stare. “So what you’re saying is that I need to be more _intimidating_.”

Aziraphale had to suppress a shudder at the way he’d practically growled that last word. There was shifting resolve on Crowley’s face, his amber eyes awake with mischief. “Well, it… probably wouldn’t hurt,” he replied weakly.

“Do you even know how interviews work, Aziraphale?”

He shook his head. “I-I don’t think so. I’ve never had to perform one before, I’m afraid.”

Crowley moved from his spot, walking confident strides in his direction. Aziraphale’s eyes were drawn by the movement of his hips. “Then let me tell you a little bit about how to get a confession out of someone.”

By instinct, Aziraphale took a step backwards. Crowley was looking at him like a serpent would its prey.

“See, it starts with a small contradiction.” Crowley’s mouth placed emphasis on the word, his head cocking to the side. “You spot holes in their statements. There’s no detail too small.”

The predatory gaze fixed entirely on him sent a shiver straight to his spine. Aziraphale did his best to hide how increasingly aroused he was getting. “R-right, of course. You can’t make a case out of lies after all. Everything… must be uncovered.”

“Problem is though, they’ll be none too happy to tell the truth.” Crowley’s voice dropped to a low, tantalizing drawl. He came closer to Aziraphale still. The blond took equal steps backwards, afraid of what he might do if Crowley got too close. His brain was not his own anymore.

His heart pounded in his chest. “Indeed. What a silly criminal they’d be to just put it all out there.” He smiled nervously under the scrutiny of Crowley’s darkening gaze. What was he getting at?

Crowley hummed in agreement. _Christ_ , his voice was sex itself. “For that, we’ll need to get the suspect to cooperate. Whatever it takes. They each have different demands. You’ll need to dig deep, find out what it is they want.”

Crowley was within arm’s reach now. Aziraphale found himself nodding. He didn’t trust himself to speak any longer. His steps grew slower.

“Do you know what comes after, Aziraphale?”

He shook his head.

“Cornering.”

Aziraphale’s back hit the wall.

He gasped as Crowley towered over him, so close that he could feel the heat radiating from his body. Crowley placed one hand on the wall beside his shoulder, sending a signal of entrapment, but still giving him ample chance to duck away should he wish to. At the moment, that was the furthest thing from his mind.

His brain was in a frenzy. Crowley’s scent clouded all thought. He smelled of clean soap and comforting masculine perfume. Aziraphale wanted to drown himself in it. He was so close, his well-toned arms caging him, his stunning eyes pinning him in place. There was a smattering of faint freckles over his nose and cheeks, and he had never seen anyone more beautiful. His mouth, wide and expressive, pale pink and soft under the room’s dull lighting, pulled up into a rich smirk. He ached to bite it off him.

“Hey.” Crowley spoke at last, his voice a rumbling low whisper. “Eyes are up here.”

That did it. The arrogance in his tone flipped a switch inside Aziraphale, arousing confidence of his own.

“Who says I wanted to look at your eyes? I quite enjoy the view from down here.”

A low growl escaped Crowley, none too pleased at having been provoked. He drew closer, herding Aziraphale into the corner. He placed his free hand on the side of Aziraphale’s neck. “You’re a bit of a bastard, aren’t you?”

Aziraphale was quickly losing his goddamn mind. If Crowley was going to loom over him, egging him on with his rumbling voice a second longer he might combust. It was fight or flight, and he’d made his decision. He tugged on Crowley’s open collar, smashing their lips together.

Their mouths crashed, their teeth clacking. It was a little bit on the side of painful, and it was _heavenly_. Crowley’s mouth moved with strength and decisiveness, tilting his head to deepen the kiss immediately. Aziraphale’s hands slid to Crowley’s bare chest, one traveling further up to grasp fiery red locks of his head. Crowley moaned deeply, spurring him to make soft tugs on his scalp. The DI gave an appreciative hum.

Crowley’s hands found purchase on his hips. He drew back a little, giving Aziraphale full view of a pair of pupils blown wide with lust. The blond couldn’t fight the whine that escaped him as Crowley latched onto his throat, sinking marvelously fine teeth into the skin. It stung, but Crowley’s tongue laved over it after, trailing a heated path down to the crook of his collarbone. His mouth fell open to a delighted gasp.

Crowley’s body pressed flush against his own and fuck it, Crowley was _hard_. For him. Crowley’s weight was a welcome burden as he was pressed even deeper onto the wall, which he was grateful for. He’s sure he would’ve lost the ability to keep standing without it. Crowley lifted up his head to hover over Aziraphale’s mouth. Their eyes locked. Aziraphale could see slight disbelief that may certainly be mirroring his own. Their lips grazed for a moment too long for Aziraphale’s liking.

“ _Crowley_ _…_ ” he whined. This was agonizing. He needed Crowley close. Needed Crowley to keep kissing him. The want buried deep in his guts. No wonder his name sounded like a prayer on his lips. Crowley’s arms tightened around him, his dark gaze flickering as he leaned back in, his tongue diving into Aziraphale’s open mouth. Aziraphale released a pleasant squeak and contented sigh, his hands sliding down Crowley’s torso, feeling the well-defined planes of his undoubtedly chiseled chest.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed that way, but it went on for a while. They kissed deeply. Frantically. Needily. Aziraphale lost himself to his lust-filled thoughts. They swayed into each other, chasing one another’s mouths like a drowning man in need of air. Crowley was making the most delicious sounds. It amazed him to know that he could arouse Crowley like this. Get him to _need_ him like this. It was everything Aziraphale could ever dream of and more.

Crowley drew back again, their lips parting with a wet noise. He gazed softly at Aziraphale, a sudden question in his eyes. “This alright?” he asked, voice uncertain. Aziraphale nodded enthusiastically. How could he even ask that? A lopsided grin found its way onto Crowley’s face and he swooped back in, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to the skin below his ear. Aziraphale tilted his head, granting him more access.

A set of knocks came at the door.

Crowley groaned, glaring viciously at the offending object. “Fuck off!”

In came Hastur’s voice from the other side of the door. “I have that list you told me to get. The one you said you needed _urgently_.” His tone sounded downright pissed.

Crowley heaved a frustrated sigh, pushing himself off of Aziraphale. With his hands newly freed, Aziraphale worked on setting himself to right, straightening his shirt and fixing his hair. Crowley opened the door as Aziraphale’s cheeks filled with newfound shame.

Aziraphale didn’t wait for any more prompting. Before he could change his mind, he stomped past the two conversing, pissed off men, and exited the room without once looking back.

* * *

It was a new kind of torture.

He laid in bed wide awake at dawn, having only a few hours before he needed to be at work again. Sleep wouldn’t come to him no matter how hard he tried, no matter how long he’d stayed up and about over the past several days. Thoughts of Crowley filled his brain. It was like being stuck in a time loop where whenever he closed his eyes he was back in Crowley’s office, snogging the gorgeous DI senseless. It felt like it had been a dream, but the lingering scent of Crowley’s perfume on his clothes reminded him otherwise.

You would think that once he’d gotten a taste of it, he’d be satiated, but he wasn’t. He now knew what Crowley’s lips felt like on his own. How his long fingers felt while trailing sensually down his sides. How Crowley felt like pressed up against him. The length and hardness of his cock through his denims. The sounds Crowley made when he was aroused and greedy for more of him.

 _No one_ had ever kissed him like that before. Aziraphale had never known what it was like to be wanted in so raw a fashion, and it arrested his mind in a fever dream. All his past partners had been soft and gentle. Slow and tender. They paled instantly in comparison to Crowley, who’d captured him with fervent lips and frantic wandering hands. It was intoxicating. He wanted more of it. Wondered what could have happened had they not been interrupted. But what did _Crowley_ want?

What was all this to him? Would Aziraphale dare to hope for more? How should he act the next time he sees Crowley? There were so many uncertainties that made any semblance of rest impossible.

He found himself at work again, not very long after. Such were the exciting details of Aziraphale’s life, that he really had nothing else on other than his job. _But that isn_ _’t entirely true_ now _, is it?_

Aziraphale was at his desk, mindlessly rifling through folders when Anathema marched over, her hand keeping a firm grip on Newt’s elbow.

“Aziraphale,” she said. “Do you already have the lab results for the glass analysis from the suspect’s clothing? Newt says the DI’s been asking for it, but I haven’t gotten anything from you yet.”

Newt gave a weak wave in greeting. “The DI says it’s important. It’s the piece he needs to finally incriminate him.”

“What..?” Aziraphale stopped. His stomach flipped and filled with dread. “Wasn’t it supposed to be with you, Anathema?”

She shot him a deathly glare which said ‘Do not pin your incompetencies on _me_ , mister’. “Did you forget that we don’t have an ICP-MS in here? You were supposed to take it to Tadfield Hospital _three days ago._ Please don’t tell me you forgot.”

Aziraphale’s wide and empty stare was all the answer she needed.

“God, no,” uttered Newt as he began to pace. “Shit, Aziraphale! You just put the nail to my coffin. He’s gonna _kill_ me! He’ll finally do it! Ohh, it was nice knowing you all.”

Aziraphale launched himself from his seat, hands making a placating gesture, more to himself than to Newt. “Okay okay okay okay—” he chanted.

“What’s happened to you?” Anathema asked sternly. “You’re not usually like this.”

That was true. Aziraphale was a meticulous worker, and it wasn’t like him at all to forget to do something as major as _that_. God, how could he have been so stupid? He’d been too distracted by his own problems and now it might cost them the case! Panic seized his chest. He needed to fix this.

“Okay.” He took a deep breath and looked at Newt. “Stop. Just relax, Newt. _I_ will go tell the Inspector. It was entirely my mistake. You need not be in trouble for it.” 

Newt heaved a sigh of relief, palm pressed to his heart.

Anathema looked grimly at him. “This is major, Aziraphale. Crowley’s not gonna be happy about this. Will you be okay?”

He truly had no idea, but he nodded. “Oh, I’m sure it will be fine.”

Unlike all the others in the station, he’d never been on the receiving end of Crowley’s cutting remarks—quite the opposite really, but that was because he’d never given him any reason to. That changes today. Because Crowley was indeed going to kill him once he finds out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was perhaps the longest kissing scene I've ever written and I sure hope it was worth it.
> 
> (Let me know what you think Crowley will do when he finds out about Aziraphale's screw up)


	4. Emotion

Aziraphale stood by the corridor adjacent to Crowley’s office, fiddling with the hem of his navy blue cardigan. About a hundred different scenarios have already run through his head regarding how he best tell Crowley about his mistake. If he was lucky, Crowley would probably let him off with a warning. Mostly, though, he was ashamed.

This wasn’t him. Aziraphale may have never pictured himself in this profession, but he was damn good at this job. The first major mistake he’d made and Crowley was there to see it. That about gives one the general idea of how good life has been to him over his several decades experience in the land of the living.

With greater determination, he marched off in the direction of the office, taking deep and steady breaths. If this was to be done, best to have it done quickly. The blinds were open, and he could see Crowley inside, perched on a corner of his desk with a pile of papers in hand and a mug of coffee in the other. He looked much more laid back, with only a black t-shirt and a grey tie hanging loosely round the column of his neck, two strands draping over his chest (which Aziraphale had touched, he noted with a tinge of bittersweet recollection; they were mocking him).

He lingered by the entryway. As he peered into the office, a flood of memor—nay, a nudge of all the happenings from the _last time_ he was there hit him, subtle as a steamroller. That the Earth was fond of making cruel jokes he could swear.

He cleared his throat.

Crowley’s head snapped up. “Aziraphale.” He couldn’t see much of his face with those sunglasses on, but he could’ve sworn the DI looked almost frightened.

“Yes, uh.” His speech was unbelievably lathered with heavy breathing. Why, oh why did he always wear his emotions like a reflector jacket? “Just making a quick pop by, you see.”

Crowley looked puzzled but luckily spared him the ridicule of noting his peculiar speech. “Come in,” he said tonelessly.

The problem wasn’t that he couldn’t come in. That part was easy enough. All Aziraphale needed to do was place his leather-shoed foot in past the door frame and let his other foot follow and then, he had done it. He had come in. But no.

The problem was he didn’t know whether or not he should shut the door.

Given the nature of what had happened _last time_ , he wasn’t sure if it would be appropriate. The idea of him doing it and unintentionally sending a signal to Crowley of what happened the _last time_ and consequently, of his feeble hopes that it may happen _again_ sent his dear life flashing before his eyes.

In the end, he left the door open. Crowley hadn’t seemed to notice anything, how close he had been to dancing with cardiac arrest.

“Popping by, are you?” drawled Crowley, eyes trained back to the document in his hand. He took a loud sip of his coffee. Aziraphale wrinkled his nose against its offending scent.

“Actually, that isn’t entirely true,” the blond began, gathering sword and shield from within.

Crowley raised a brow which flitted above his shades.

“Listen…” He struggled to think of what to say. Crowley called him ‘Aziraphale’. Was it too formal to call him by his surname in return? “…Anthony.”

Crowley blinked. Not that Aziraphale could see it if he did, but he just knew that he did.

He wrung his fingers atop his fleshy stomach. “ _Can_ I call you Anthony?”

“No.” Crowley took another sip of his coffee, everything else about him motionless. “Never.”

“Duly noted!” he replied with forced enthusiasm. “That’s uh… So you’re a coffee drinker, eh?” He cringed. In any effect, it was a peculiar trait to Aziraphale, who detested the very taste, scent and sight of the horrid dark liquid.

“It’s coffee, Aziraphale,” Crowley replied, as if there was an answer to be found in it somewhere. “Keeps me standing. Breathing, even. Be dead to the world were it not for this. Look, if you have something to say just spit it out.”

Aziraphale released a breath. He couldn’t stall for any longer. “Right. I-um… Need to tell you something, but before I do please know that I am _deeply_ sorry.”

There’s a change in Crowley’s expression as he held up his mug, silencing Aziraphale. “Before you go through all that,” he said grimly, “you should know, too. Last night was uncalled for. Dunno if it was the _stresss_ or _ssomething_ , I just… have no idea what came over me but I shouldn’t have put you in a position like that. Promise it won’t happen again.”

Something… probably nothing, but _something_ sunk in the pit of Aziraphale’s stomach.

“Ah.” He ducked his head, frowning at his fingers, because of course Crowley would be ashamed of what had happened. Of what he’d done with _him_. “Nothing to it, old chap. It’s tickety-boo.”

“Tickety-boo…” Crowley muttered. Aziraphale shot him an unsteady smile. “Was there anything else you wanted to say or are we done here?”

Crowley wasn’t even looking at him, and Aziraphale usually didn’t like to think he was petty but he was jealous of a pile of papers for crying out loud. He cleared his throat again, hoping it might dissipate the awkwardness in the air as well. “Remember the glass samples you wanted to have analysed?”

Crowley looked up at this, appearing shell-shocked.

Aziraphale soldiered on. “You see… I was supposed to bring them over to the hospital and I… I forgot.” He took a quick glance at Crowley and added, “I am so very sorry.”

Crowley stood up on his feet. “You _whot?_ ”

“I-I-I will bring them over this instant! I’m sure if I get there fast enough, I can press them to release the lab results—”

“No, don’t bother.” Crowley snapped, his features tight. “It’s too late for that now.” Aziraphale could see the gears of his brain turning.

Crowley whirled back on his desk, rifling through stacks of documents with laser sharp focus.

“I will still do it, regardless,” said Aziraphale feebly. “It might be able to help.”

A hum was all of Crowley’s response. Aziraphale wondered whether this was any better than getting yelled at. It’s like Crowley didn’t even see him anymore.

“I’ll be going now.” Aziraphale, much in the same manner of his entrance, stepped back to exit the room without another word exchanged between the two of them.

* * *

Aziraphale returned to the station after a brief trip to Tadfield Hospital. It’d still be some hours before the results could be prepared, despite the pressing powers he prided himself in just an hour ago in front of Crowley.

He sat over at Anathema’s workstation, head pillowed on his forearms draped over the desk. A mug of hot cocoa was perched just by his elbow. It always used to comfort him, however small. He just needed a few minutes to deter his thoughts from Crowley. His mind had been filled with Crowley for so long that it grew tired, nearly sickened by the slight remembrance of him. He gratefully listened as Anathema went on and on about the class on ancient scripts that she had started taking.

“Honestly, I didn’t think I’d enjoy it, but the lecturer was pretty good,” she said thoughtfully, oblivious to Aziraphale’s inner turmoil. Or if she had any idea about it, she certainly didn’t let on. “Oh! And he’s cute. Single.”

“You have a boyfriend,” he chided.

She shook her head. “Not for me, dumdum. For _you_.”

Aziraphale’s fluffy head rose up from the shield of his arms. “ _Me?_ ”

“Yes, you!” she quipped. “You’ve been pining over Crowley for so long, that pretty head of yours has stopped functioning completely. You need to get over him, honey.”

Aziraphale stared blankly at her, unable to decide how to begin with his explanation.

“That’s rather thoughtful of you, dear, but you know I am not of the dating sort.” That was never true, but it was _now_ , ever since Crowley became the only man that he could ever be interested in. And yes, as deemed tragic by the recent turn of events, he was way past denying it now.

“You haven’t even seen him. He’s totally your type.”

Aziraphale took on a challenging tone. “And what pray tell would that even be?”

She winked. “You’ll know if you agree to have me set you up on a date with him.”

Aziraphale floundered. “That’s quite enough of that, thank you.” 

There was a rumbling crash that came from the floor beneath them. They eyed one another, both wondering what the hell just occurred.

Newt came tumbling past the door, panting. “Oh god. I can’t. I can’t take this anymore. I can’t go back down there!”

“Newt, sweetie, walk us through what happened?” inquired Anathema.

He nodded desperately. “Hastur’s gone berserk. He and the boss had some verbal spat, didn’t like what he said. Next thing we knew, Hastur walked out the DI’s office and starting flipping all the _shit!_ ”

“Goodness gracious,” Aziraphale remarked, turning to Anathema he added, “Better it’s not us, right? Gabriel would have a stroke over his imposed clean-desk policy.”

“This is not the time, Aziraphale!” she took a deep, calming breath as she looked over at her panicked boyfriend and her ineffably dumb best friend. “Okay. Hastur’s a sketchy guy, but he doesn’t act up without being provoked. I take it’s something from what Crowley told him. Which naturally begs the question…” her eyes roamed over Aziraphale suspiciously. “What exactly happened between the two of you?”

Aziraphale jumped from his seat, slapping the mug of cocoa and sending its remaining contents spilling over his lap. He stood up, rambling meaningless noises as he attempted to salvage the mug and his trousers. “Happened? W-with me and _Crowley?_ Oh no, nothing happened, my dear! We aren’t… We’re not even friends! And we’ve only just met—”

“I _know_ , you imbecile. I mean what happened when you told him you forgot about the glass samples?”

“Oh.” Aziraphale stilled in his seat, cheeks set aflame at his own assumption. His secret was safe. For now. “N-nothing. Honestly, it was nothing. He didn’t say a word to me.”

Anathema’s narrowed eyes held a wisdom far beyond her age. “…Unless something actually did happen between the two of you.”

“Why ever would you think that, my dear?” he replied sweetly. He couldn’t bear to talk about the truth. Won’t be able to speak of it again, by the looks of it.

Mercifully, her gaze shifted back to Newt. “Right then. You can take half of my desk for now but do not, under any circumstances, touch any of my stuff. It took me four days to get all their energies right and you will not ruin it. Got it?”

Newt nodded gratefully, setting his stuff down on the desk and forcing Aziraphale to part with it. He wandered off to look for some cleaning materials for the spilled cocoa, his feet dragging on the concrete floor.

* * *

Since the dawn of time, public restrooms have always been the revered temple for deep contemplation. Or at least they were in Anthony J Crowley’s book.

The DI sat half-perched on the toilet seat, head in his hands. This was the only place of fortitude left for him. Not even his office was safe. And even his toilet options were limited, as it turned out the only other stall in this restroom was locked and being repaired for something. His mind was a trolley bound for unknown destinations, and he was the man on the ground trying to haul it back to the right track with a flimsy rope. He ran over case details. Concentrated on the taste of coffee stale on his tongue. Nothing. Nothing deterred his thoughts from Aziraphale. The sound of his voice. The feel of his own ink-stained hands running over tweed. Caressing patches of flesh. Sliding down the perfect column of his neck.

Crowley released a groan. Never had his mind been further away from him. It was painful seeing him today, to have to say words that cut deep into his chest. But he needed to reel himself back in. Aziraphale hadn’t wanted that. Could never possibly want all that. Despite how glorious he’d felt in his arms, the numerous contented sighs that passed through his soft lips.

Heaven and hell, those _lips_. Crowley could go mad over them. He’d known what it was to taste them now. A drop of water to a man keening with thirst. It was pathetic how soppy he’d gotten, but everything about Aziraphale lit up a flame inside him. But Aziraphale could never want him. He had to know he deserved better than that. Better than whatever Crowley was. He’d even gone to Crowley’s office that morning just to tell him he was sorry about it.

There was the sound of the door being opened and closed, a shuffling of footsteps nearing one of the sinks. Crowley supposed he’d gotten his fair share of quiet time. He couldn’t stay in here much longer, and besides he still had that endless interview to get back to in about an hour. Glass or no glass, he was going to get a confession today.

Standing up straight, he unlatched the lock of his stall, and locked eyes with Aziraphale through the room’s wide mirrors above the row of sinks.

Aziraphale stood frozen, crouched over the sink, his pale face colouring. “Hello there.”

Crowley took a moment to ponder on why he looked so panicked. His gaze took note of a spread of dark brown on the hem of his cardigan, continuing to his trousers. “Rough day?”

“I guess you could say that.” Aziraphale’s lips pursed in concentration as he dabbed wetted paper towels over his lap. He sighed hopelessly. “I can’t believe this. I’ll be needing to buy new clothes now.”

“You could just have those cleaned,” Crowley said as he too walked toward the sinks and began the ritual of appearing to have just utilised a toilet for its correct purpose. “I know some cleaners who’d get it out. No one would even be able to tell.”

“Well _I_ would know,” Aziraphale said with the distinct cadence of his speech. Crowley could spend hours listening to that voice. And not even in a sexy way, he noted with some surprise. Aziraphale could read him autopsy reports and he’d listen to it like a riveting audiobook. “I would always know the stain was there.”

Against himself, Crowley began to giggle. This angel was so needlessly fussy. Fucking adorable.

“Suit yourself,” he replied when his amusement had faded.

“How about you? You look tired as well.” After a pause, he added, “I heard about what happened. If I had anything at all to do with your foul mood, Crowley, I beg you take it out on me. I deserve it, after all.”

Something deep and dark crawled to life from the pits of his stomach. Crowley tamped it back down, but _Christ_ did those words do things to him. That, however, was a Pandora’s box he had _no right_ to unpack.

“You shouldn’t say stuff like that,” he found himself saying. Despite how dangerous it was, how it bordered on uncharted territory.

“Why ever not?” His brows had knitted themselves into confusion.

“You’re asking for trouble,” he replied simply. He could see Aziraphale mulling over this response with deeper focus than it was worth. “It’s just this case. Wearing me out and all. Anyway, I can handle it.”

“What if I could help you?” Aziraphale asked, his gaze lowered.

Crowley frowned. “I told you there’s no need for the glass, Aziraphale. We can only hold the suspect until six o’clock, either we incriminate him now or he walks free—”

“I wasn’t talking about the glass,” he said weakly. His fingers fiddled with the hem of his shirt. “I-I ah, was talking about something else.”

Crowley racked his brain for a moment. He couldn’t think of any other piece of evidence related to this case that could help him. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“Well, you see. You always work so hard, Crowley, and…” Aziraphale winced as he spoke, as if he was speaking in tongues and the words coming out of his mouth were unintelligible even to him. “You know I always stumble upon you in some fashion or another of weariness. Usually during the night hours.”

“Okay…” That was true. Aziraphale had ‘stumbled upon’ him several times now while he crashed in his office and the angel was in the mood for a quick bite that only a working electric box could elevate to being worthy of his needlessly high standards. They’d struck up small conversations here and there. Nothing much, but enough. Enough for Crowley to _feel_. And damn did he feel so much.

“I hope you don’t think this too forward, and you’re welcome to shoot it down instantly,” Aziraphale rambled on, and Crowley’s curiosity racked up in earnest. What was he going on about? Aziraphale cleared his throat, a small delightful sound that rang through the tiled room. “But in all the times that we’ve met, day and night involved that is… There was only one time I have seen you… _relaxed_.”

Aziraphale’s cheeks were flaming red. His hand clenched restlessly at the faucet knob. Crowley’s brain had shut off at this point, and it took him a while to heed the angel’s words.

“Nghh.”

Aziraphale slapped a hand over his face in mortification. “Right, of course! It was a fanciful idea and we can forget I ever said anything—”

“When you… went to see me this morning,” Crowley said, his voice gone hoarse all of a sudden. “That thing you wanted to say. Was it _only_ about the glass?”

Aziraphale’s head whipped round to face him, beautiful grey eyes seeing right through him. “Of course,” he replied, bit confused. “What else would I have said?”

About how he’d regretted what happened between them in that office? How he’d been so disgusted with him, how he couldn’t stand the very sight of him that he had to walk out of the room immediately after, leaving Crowley to ruminate on all the shitty things he’d just done?

“About… that?” The end curled up into a questioning statement, because Crowley had suddenly become uncertain about everything that was happening.

For some reason, Aziraphale seemed to understand him perfectly. “Yes, um. That.” Aziraphale averted his gaze, his thick lashes fluttering. “And as I remember, you’ve made quite clear what your stance on _that_ is.”

Without thinking, Crowley took a step towards him. They were close now, but he didn’t dare get rid of the remaining gap. His hands clenched at his sides, to keep from reaching out. “Aziraphale, I have no self control when it comes to _you_.”

He watched those beautifully-framed eyes widen in disbelief. There was a moment of tension which coursed through them both, lacing into their feverish hearts, sending heat that seared down to their limbs. Aziraphale was a star—a burning ball of glory that he couldn’t look at, and yet he looked back at Crowley with unrestrained desire. It shot through him like a dagger, speared right through his useless body.

Aziraphale took the final step between them, warm breath tickling Crowley’s chin as he gazed fondly at him—a gaze he’d never received before. “Then what is holding you back?” he whispered.

It took all of Crowley’s remaining self-restraint not to crush Aziraphale’s body to his then and there. He could have. It would have been the easiest thing to do. But Aziraphale was so… clean. He needed to be warned. To keep a safe distance away.

“You have no idea what you’re asking.” _I_ _’m a pathetic, greedy man and I'm scared that I will never not want you._ Crowley ached to touch him, fingernails digging crescent-shaped marks into his palms.

“I am, as you most helpfully put it a while ago, asking for trouble.” Aziraphale gnawed on his lower lip, a worried expression overtaking his face. “Oh, dear. I really am being very silly aren’t I? Perhaps we sho— _mmmpf!_ ”

Crowley didn’t care to hear where the rest of that speech was going as he grabbed the back of Aziraphale’s head and pulled him in for a fervent kiss. Aziraphale let out a salacious moan that went straight to his groin. He kept their lips pressed, waiting for a signal from Aziraphale whether or not they could proceed.

Aziraphale pulled away. Crowley’s hand fell limply to his side. He tried not to let on how affected he’d been, fighting any expression trying to make way on his face.

Then, Aziraphale’s hands came up to grab his tie and _tugged_. Crowley’s jaw hung open, and he was pretty sure he looked like a right idiot, gazing dumbstruck at the confidently smug look on the angel’s face. The world could burn for all he cared. And then, he was being pulled, his feet loose and pliant, back into the stall where he’d spent moping just a short while ago.

Crowley had just a smidge of sense remaining to lock the door, and Aziraphale’s lips were back on him in a flash. Aziraphale’s hands moved down his sides, hastily untucking his shirt. Crowley groaned into the kiss, his own desire overwhelming him. He cradled the back of the angel’s head, cottony soft curls dancing between his fingers. When his own shirt had gotten untucked, ice cold palms pressed onto his stomach, running to his sides and meeting to intertwine at the small of his back. The movement sent a shiver to his spine.

“That’s hardly fair,” Crowley said, frowning at what must be three layers of clothing that the angel had on. He pulled at the cardigan, his knuckles kneading lightly at Aziraphale’s marvelously round stomach. “Weren’t you planning on getting rid of this?”

Aziraphale flushed beautifully. “Much obliged, if you would be so kind as to dispose it for me.”

Fuck, that was adorable. His voice. His _face_. Everything about him was fucking radiant and it was all Crowley could do to restrain himself as he hastily unbuttoned the object, chucking it behind him somewhere. His arms encircled the angel’s shoulders, as though to shield his innocence. His lips pressed reverent kisses on the angel’s jaw, nipping lightly at the fold of his chin. He was so amazingly _soft_ and Crowley was astounded by the fact that there was so much of him, how much expanse of Aziraphale still awaited his exploration.

He went back to kissing the angel’s mouth, gently nudging it open so he could slip his tongue in. Aziraphale jolted a little, drawing himself back. Crowley stared, wondering if he should back away, but Aziraphale still had his arms firmly clasped around him.

“You taste like coffee,” Aziraphale whispered shyly.

“You don’t like it?” He was suddenly very self aware.

Aziraphale shook his head. “No, I… I’ll get used to it.” The colour from his cheeks spread down to his neck, realizing the implications of what he’d just said.

Crowley grinned. “Good.” He dove back down to recapture Aziraphale’s lips.

Aziraphale pushed on his back. Crowley relented to the force. Following Aziraphale was as easy as a river running its course. They stumbled together until Aziraphale’s back was pressed to the wall. Crowley found humour in the sense of nostalgia.

He groaned, pinning Aziraphale to the surface with his hips. Aziraphale’s mouth gave way to a sharp gasp as his erection pressed against Crowley, who now inserted a thigh in between his legs. Crowley’s eyes clamped shut at the sensation, the tightness of his jeans in full effect as he began grinding himself against Aziraphale’s hip.

“My dear…” Aziraphale whispered. “May I?” And he realized that the angel’s hands were on the band of his jeans, fingers grazing over the buckle of his belt. Crowley nodded. He would hand him the stars if he asked for it.

Aziraphale was a quick worker. He pried open the belt, worked on the button and fly. He pressed the heel of his palm on Crowley’s erection, just over his boxers. Crowley let out a hitched breath and whine.

He brought the waistband down, hand making a firm grasp around Crowley’s length. A shudder ran through him.

Aziraphale looked at his cock with keen interest, a hunger that he’d never expected to see on that gorgeous, innocent face. “Crowley, you’re lovely.”

Crowley had to fight back a blush. He wasn’t gonna go all soppy teenager just because Aziraphale had praised him with that heavenly voice of his. “Yeah, yeah. Lemme see you?”

With a quick nod, Crowley worked to reveal him. Aziraphale’s trousers bunched around his knees, exposing the luscious thighs he had spent many a sad wank over. _Fuck._ He was gonna explode from arousal. Aziraphale’s fat cock was even more gorgeous than he imagined it to be. He grasped them both in his hand, making smooth pumps over the length of them. Aziraphale’s head hit the wall as his back arched into a high-pitched moan.

Crowley sealed his mouth with a kiss. “Idiot,” he hissed when he pulled back a little. “Someone’ll hear you.” Even though all he’d wanted to do for the rest of his life was to draw out all the sounds he could from Aziraphale. But it wouldn’t do them any good now.

Aziraphale nodded frantically, his hips thrusting into Crowley’s hand. His face was heavily-laden with raw desire, and Crowley knew he wouldn’t be able to last much longer. Aziraphale placed his own hand along with Crowley’s, stroking a definite rhythm that sent shockwaves through their bodies. Aziraphale came first, with a barely suppressed groan. Crowley followed not long after. He watched as strings of his cum dripped lazily down Aziraphale’s thighs. He let out a low growl, grasping the back of the angel’s skull and burying his face in the crook of his shoulder, sighing deeply.

Bliss, pure and unadulterated. In there, that temple of deep contemplation, he had found nirvana. His frame sagged over Aziraphale’s, tension relieving from places he’d never thought there was even any. Aziraphale made light strokes over his back, holding him.

They heard the door open. Crowley shot up, locking panicked eyes with Aziraphale.

The newcomer was walking to their stall. Crowley pressed a finger to his lips. Aziraphale shot him a deadly glare, as if to say _Obviously!_

The person knocked on their stall. “Hey, anyone in here? I didn’t see no one come in, and I really need to go!”

It was Ligur’s voice. Crowley kept his gaze on Aziraphale’s gorgeous eyes, running down the length of that perfect upturned nose, and to those kiss-swollen red lips. Utterly debauched. _I did that,_ said a triumphant voice in his head. He smiled.

“What the hell, Ligur?!” he yelled. “Can’t get a moment’s peace from any of you idiots, can I?”

Ligur let out a frightful squeak. “S-sorry, boss! Didn’t know it was you!”

“Bugger off!”

“Yeah! I’ll uh, go use the one downstairs!”

They stayed still until the footsteps disappeared, and they heard the door open and shut once again.

Aziraphale let out a breath. “Oh good lord.”

Crowley took in his horrified expression, and burst into a fit of giggles.

Aziraphale looked affronted at first, then he seemed to realize how ridiculous the situation had been. His own silent laughs mixed with Crowley’s, his hands holding onto Crowley’s shoulders as they struggled to keep down their voices.

“Well, that was… something,” Aziraphale said once their giggling died down.

“Yeah. Something.”

Aziraphale flashed him a look. One that Crowley would never forget, and he just _knew_. From here on out he would spend the rest of his life getting the angel to look at him like that again and again.

* * *

That night, the entirety of Tadfield’s police force simultaneously let out the breaths they’d been holding. It was over. For now.

The suspect had finally confessed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are much appreciated!
> 
> Also, I'm looking for a beta for this fic, if there's anyone who would be willing to help me out, that'd be great! Preferably someone who has a twitter account, but if not we can work something out :) Just DM me here or on twitter: @aziraphaleann


	5. No Drug Like Me

On no account did Aziraphale have any reason to be at CID right now. Many will probably be quick to disagree, given _everything_ that has happened over the past month. But when Anathema got held up at the lab and requested him to carry over a report to Newt, Aziraphale began to wonder if there may be a magnet somewhere on his person constantly dragging him back downstairs (perhaps coming from the microwave he kept abusing).

He peered into the detectives’ workspace, trying to discern Newt’s pale and perpetually distressed face among the sea of blacks and greys. The place appeared busier than usual, with several uniformed officers also in the room. The crowd appeared to be densest around one corner where a large whiteboard stood. With a bit of dread, Aziraphale realized they were about to commence a briefing.

At last, he spotted Newt a few ways away, scurrying across the room with a notepad in hand. Aziraphale remained dawdling by the doorway, trying to figure out how to get his attention. He shifted his weight on the balls of his feet, mangling the edge of the brown folder in his hands. Crowley stepped out of his office a second after, walking with definite swagger over to the gathered crowd. Gorgeous as always, Aziraphale still couldn’t tear his eyes off him. He ducked his head, feeling his heart flutter a little—like a pathetic blushing maiden.

Crowley stood by the whiteboard, one arm leaning on the frame and the crowd fell to an instant hush, just as it was wont to do every time Crowley entered any room.

“Alright, you bastards, “ Crowley began as about a dozen officers looked on. “You know the deal. Forty-two year old woman named Amy Gallagher was stabbed in an alley at 1:35 this morning—”

Oh heavens, they were starting. Aziraphale’s discomfort level rose up as he struggled to catch Newt’s eye. The bumbling DS only stood behind an office chair, drowned by the larger bodies of other officers. Aziraphale burned holes into Newt’s head, huffing as he did so.

The Earth finally took mercy on him as Newt swatted something on the skin of his neck and spotted Aziraphale in the process.

The blond held up the folder and mouthed, _‘Anathema!’_

Newt took a couple of seconds to register this speech, then nodded nervously. With a pointed look at Crowley, he pleaded silently with Aziraphale.

“—sustained only some injuries, but in critical condition. She is not in a state to be interviewed—”

Aziraphale raised his brows, up as far as they would go, and held up one finger. _‘Just one moment!’_

Newt shook his head in horror. _‘No way. Just wait!’_ He held up a palm in front of him.

This was ridiculous. Aziraphale wasn’t gonna stand there looking like an idiot for the entire duration of their meeting. It’s not like Newt would get into any trouble for picking up a file at the _entryway_ for like, three seconds.

But how was he going to convey _that_?

Aziraphale glared at him.

Newt frowned and, with one quick glance back at Crowley, began to wave him over. _‘Come here!’_

Aziraphale pressed his lips into a tight line. That’s about as good as he was going to get. At the very least, everyone seemed engrossed enough in the briefing that it’s likely he would slip by unnoticed. It’d only be for a moment, after all.

He strode into the room, towards Newt’s general direction.

“—Based on the CCTV footage the attacker fled in the direction of the Somerset street shops. I want four uniforms making inquiries after each and every one. Got it?”

With a bit of effort, Aziraphale shouldered his way past a couple of officers and reached Newt, handing him the file at last. “Thanks,” said the DS. He nodded. Now to get out.

“Suspect is most likely male. Athletic. He can’t have gotten far. We need to track the attacker’s movements after he fled the scene on foot.”

The room was silent, save for the sound of scrawling pens over paper and exhausted breathing. Aziraphale’s brows pulled forth as he mulled over Crowley’s odd statement.

“—Right. Good. Any questions?”

Nobody said a word. The niggling in Aziraphale’s mind intensified into outright nudging, wherein he made the split second, _barely conscious_ decision to raise his own hand.

All heads turned to face him. There may have been a faint gasp from someone somewhere in the room.

Crowley perched a hand on his hip, looking at Aziraphale with pupils that were barely there as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. There seemed to be no surprise on his expression, despite the fact that Aziraphale had no reason to be there.

“Yes,” Aziraphale began, his voice ringing through the room. Judging by their ominous faces, everyone seemed to regard him as a prisoner on death row. “How very odd for you to choose that strategy.”

The quietness of the room, when he stopped talking, pressed against his ears.

“Yeah? How so,” said Crowley, lips curling into a handsome smirk. “Need I remind you, Aziraphale, that I have twenty years experience in this sort of thing. You’re not even a detective.”

“That may be so,” replied he, nodding calmly, “and while I’m certain all of us here reveres your _experience_ —” he paused for dramatic effect, “—it is experience brought about by the hooligans of London. Tadfield is very different from the metropolis.”

Crowley scoffed. “I’ll be sure to look up the laws of countryside stabbing.”

A couple of snickers erupted from the crowd, now probably watching them like a play they hadn’t paid to see. Aziraphale pursed his lips, ignoring them.

“A stabbing in an alley in London will have vastly different implications from that in Tadfield. In the former, your most likely bet would be the usual highwaymen—”

“No one’s called them that in two hundred years, Aziraphale.”

“I am aware!” He snapped, then took a deep breath to recollect himself. “You can’t imagine there’d be such people _here_. Who could even pull it off? Everyone knows everyone in Tadfield. No, if this poor woman had been stabbed it’s likely been done by someone she already knew.”

Aziraphale could still feel everyone’s stares, sticky on his skin. Crowley mulled over his response, silently stroking his chin.

He wondered briefly whether he’d crossed a line.

Then, Crowley smiled. A small close-lipped smile that was barely even there, but he could see it nonetheless.

The DI snapped his fingers. “Dagon, I’m gonna need a list of the victim’s current and former domestic partners as well as anyone living in the vicinity of her home. Uniforms will confirm with them if she had any reason to arouse violence with anyone.”

With a round of approval from the officers, Crowley dismissed the meeting and the crowd dispersed. Aziraphale made to relieve the room of his own presence.

He’d gotten about three steps away to the door when there’s a firm hold on his elbow. He stopped, his head whirling back to see Crowley, his back turned to him as he clenched the fabric of Aziraphale’s sleeve.

“You’re gonna regret doing that,” said Crowley, his voice low.

Aziraphale hummed in response, retracting his arm from the DI’s grasp. “I have a feeling I will not.”

* * *

That night, Aziraphale whiled away the hours in Crowley’s office, and he spent much of that time on his knees between Crowley’s spread legs as the DI’s languid form sprawled over the leather couch while Aziraphale worked his cock deep into his mouth.

Crowley made an intelligible chorus of low groans, his head lolling on the backrest. He had a beautiful dick—long and narrow like the rest of him. It filled Aziraphale’s mouth beautifully, a weight that registered on his tongue with pleasant ease. Crowley took another shuddering breath as Aziraphale grasped the base of his cock, closing firmly while his head bobbed over the shaft.

A hand went to grasp the back of Aziraphale’s skull, curling in on feathery white locks and applying pressure that sent the tip of his cock brushing the back of Aziraphale’s throat. The movement made him gag, but his mouth remained firmly closed around Crowley’s length, warmth shooting straight into Aziraphale’s groin. _God_ , he loved it when Crowley did that. The urging, the insistence. Aziraphale was achingly hard in his own trousers, but Crowley had a mind for only his own pleasure. Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered close in reverent satisfaction.

He relaxed his throat, urging Crowley to thrust in even further. He kept level suction on the shaft, hollowing his cheeks, then pulled out swiftly to flick the head with his lips before slamming back down on his entire length. It took a couple of tries, but he was a fast learner and he now knew the exact maneuvers that Crowley liked. He was rewarded with a high-pitched whine.

“Now isn’t this a much better use for that pretty mouth of yours?” Crowley said, his voice thick with arousal. He kept a firm hold on Aziraphale’s head, guiding him up and down his length. Aziraphale took it all willingly. “Ahh. Your mouth drives me so _mad_ , angel. Keep doing that.”

Aziraphale felt warmth on the back of his neck. He still hadn’t quite gotten used to Crowley calling him that—a name he applied only when his drunken senses were six feet deep in sex. Nevertheless, it always caught him off guard. He meant to ask Crowley about it, but found himself faltering at the last second. Maybe it was better that way. If he brought it up then Crowley might stop doing it, which he definitely did not want to happen.

He pulled back, pausing to shoot Crowley a small smile, his lips grazing the tip of Crowley’s cock just so. His hand kept up the work that his mouth had abandoned, making swift determined pumps eased with an abundance of slick and saliva. Crowley took several shuddering gasps, his back arched to accommodate his trembling hips.

“Faster,” he commanded. His hand had fallen to Aziraphale’s nape.

“This is as fast as it can go, Crowley!” Aziraphale chided. “My wrist is aching.”

“You complain too much.”

“You _demand_ too much.” Aziraphale slowed his hand to a gentle stroke, his fingers loosening grip instantly. “Do you want me to stop? I know a guy who can meet your impeccably high standards.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Crowley glared darkly, thrusting his hip uselessly into Aziraphale’s open grasp with a silent whine.

“Then shut up and let me work on you,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Tough crowd we have today.”

“Hey!” Crowley shot up from his seat, his hand coming back up to grasp at Aziraphale’s hair. He pulled on it, forcing him to look up into Crowley’s face, now inches away from his. “I liked it better when you weren’t talking. Still haven’t forgotten what happened earlier, you know.”

A shiver ran down Aziraphale’s spine, his gaze trapped in amber. “I can hardly be blamed,” he replied, maintaining the snarkiness in his tone somehow. “It’s not my fault you’re only a subpar detective.”

Crowley chuckled darkly, his other hand coming to rest on Aziraphale’s cheek, warm calloused pads over soft skin. “You better thank the lucky stars you’re so bloody gorgeous, or I’d have torn you to shreds by now.”

Aziraphale’s face set aflame as Crowley captured his lips into a searing kiss. Aziraphale moaned deeply. Crowley’s kisses were fire, the warmth of the sun itself. The danger of its nature, how it spreads out and quickly overwhelms you, takes away your ability to breathe—it’s all the same. He kissed like Aziraphale was oxygen and Crowley was consuming him.

His free hand clasped onto Crowley’s jaw, leaning up and trying to deepen the kiss. He licked across Crowley’s lips, demanding entrance. Crowley chuckled and pulled away, leaning back to his previous sprawl on the sofa.

Aziraphale may or may not have pouted. “Crowley!”

Crowley’s lips were curled up into a lopsided grin as he gestured towards his groin. “ _Suck_ , angel _._ ”

It took only those two words, and Aziraphale tipped down his chin, his tongue darting out to press and encircle the tip of Crowley’s cock. Crowley settled back down in his seat, but Aziraphale still had more to say.

“You should come in my mouth,” he said as if he were telling Crowley what the weather would be tomorrow.

Crowley’s eyes widened a bit in surprise. “Are you sure?” The edginess in his tone faltered.

“It’s nothing I haven’t done before.”

“Y-yeahh I… s’pose so.” He cleared his throat, regaining his composure. “I mean, yeah, of course. As you should.”

Aziraphale dove back down, swallowing his length. Crowley let out a yelp, hand flinging back to grip on Aziraphale’s head. His hand came down to gently massage the testicles, earning him a drawn out moan. From there, it didn’t take long for Crowley to finish. Crowley hunched over him with a keening moan, spilling his seed down Aziraphale’s throat. He kept his breathing deep and steady as he worked his muscles to swallow his cum.

“ _Angel_ _…_ ” Crowley sighed. “Fuck!”

He waited until the pulsing of Crowley’s cock faded in his mouth before pulling back with a loud pop. He relished the sight of Crowley post orgasm, and always made sure to see him in this manner. Like this, he appeared untouchable—the lines around his eyes smoothening, his jaw lax and his eyes unfocused. He _adored_ the sight of him like this.

They stayed like that for about a minute, before Aziraphale pushed himself up off the floor, opening his mouth to air out the bitterness on his tongue. Just because he enjoyed the act didn’t necessarily mean he liked the taste.

“Oh,” said Crowley, the sharp bite previously present in his tone had worn off. “There’s um, a glass of water over on my desk.”

Aziraphale turned to look at it, frowning. Sure enough, among the piles of papers, was a single glass filled to the brim.

He whirled back to look at Crowley, affronted. “You prepared that! You _knew_ I was gonna—”

“Yeah, yeah whatever. I know I’m clever, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale flushed from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. “Actually I was going to say you’re very kind.”

Crowley’s face scrunched all up in disgust, his jagged teeth baring. “Never call me that again.”

Aziraphale hummed and went to drain the glass while Crowley set himself to rights. Crowley’s office was a mess—entirely cluttered and uncoordinated. The bookcase was filled with stacks of envelopes and folders instead of books. The corners were littered by mismatched plants. The entire room was a screeching symphony of both his work and personal items—it was practically his _flat_ now. When he’d downed the drink and returned the glass to its previous position, a pair of long arms came from behind him, snaking around his stomach.

One hand held out a purple handkerchief. Aziraphale took it almost shyly and used it to wipe slobber off his mouth and chin. His heart clenched at the gesture. He hated having to clean up bodily fluids with his clothes, and Crowley had gotten wind of it somehow.

Crowley pressed hot kisses to his nape, up to the sensitive skin behind his ear. He shivered, his body instantly going lax as Crowley’s chest pressed up against his back. “That was brilliant. Let me do something for _you_ now.”

Aziraphale resisted the urge to just _melt_ into him. God knew if he let his guard down for one second he’d never be able to leave this room. “Best not. I’m actually quite knackered, and I’m thinking of going home to sleep a regular set of hours for once.”

Crowley groaned, arms tightening around him. “You’re no fun.”

“Yes that is me, dreadfully dull.” Aziraphale reluctantly dislodged his arms and turned around to face him. “You should go home as well, once you’ve finished up in here.”

Crowley did a sort of half shrug with his shoulder. “Ehhh maybe. It’s whatever.”

“Come to think of it, how often do you even sleep in your home? You always seem to spend the night here.”

“S’fine. I don’t like sleeping there. Too hollow.”

“Hollow?”

“It’s a hotel room, after all.”

Aziraphale reeled back, his eyes wide. “You live in a _hotel?_ ”

“Oi, don’t look at me like that. Haven’t had time to look for a house, and s’not like I’ll be spending much time in it anyway.”

“Crowley, that is ridiculous! You need to look for a proper house!”

“It’s really not that bad!” Crowley’s voice had risen to defence, his sunset-coloured eyes glinting.

“But you must be lonely.”

“Nah. The owners’ son, Adam, likes to stop by to hog the telly sometimes.”

Aziraphale couldn’t believe what he was hearing. But then again, he could count on one hand the number of hours he’d spent in his own home the past week. Let he who has no sin throw the first stone and all.

“Oh, Crowley,” he sighed with an exasperated tone. “That explains _so_ many things.”

* * *

Newt came into Forensics a few days after to invite them (by _them_ meaning just Anathema and Aziraphale. He was sure barely half of Forensics even knew that Newt worked in the building) to some drinks at the pub that night.

“We’re all heading out for Hastur’s birthday,” he said. “You guys should come. Unwind a little.”

“Really? _All_ of you?” said Aziraphale. He’d never known the detectives to be a chummy group.

Newt nodded. “We’ve all been working so many cases lately, everyone just kinda agreed we deserved an off, y’know? Besides, we haven’t got much on at the moment.”

“Lucky,” Anathema noted. “Did you get Crowley to come?”

“We did. Surprisingly,” said Newt, wide-eyed. Aziraphale perked up with slight interest. “But thing is, have you noticed he’s been… _easier_ lately?”

“Has he?” Aziraphale exclaimed. “I wouldn’t know. I barely see him.”

“We all thought he was gonna off you when you went to question him during the briefing!”

Aziraphale scoffed. “You detectives can be so dramatic.”

“What happened?” Anathema asked.

“Nothing,” replied Newt. “He was completely cool with it.”

“Hmm.” Anathema looked at Aziraphale. “Fascinating.”

“Right?” said Newt. “Maybe your prediction came true. He’s been shagging someone.”

“ _Or_ ,” countered Aziraphale, “he may have discovered a hobby. Knitting, perhaps?”

The two turned to stare blankly at him.

Anathema rolled her eyes. “Yeah, he’s definitely having sex. Which is good for him, but more importantly, good for all of _us_.”

Aziraphale resolutely refused to look at either of them. He was in no way ready to join in on this particular conversation.

* * *

The thing is, he wasn’t certain what he and Crowley actually _were_. He had enough on his mind already, and he wasn’t about to add to that burden by debating on whether or not Crowley was okay with having others know about their… for lack of a better word, _Arrangement_. They didn’t talk about things like that. They talked and bantered easily, like old friends. It was always a delight to spend time with him, even when they weren’t having sex. But there were certain things they did not talk about and one of those was _that_.

Which was fine by him, really. This was the most fun he’s had in years, and Crowley was just so _easy_ as a companion that he wasn’t about to go and ruin it. It was enough for him to know that Crowley was aroused by him and seemed to genuinely like his company. And really, given his age, looks, and disposition in life, he didn’t have much right to complain.

The detectives seemed almost complete already by the time Aziraphale had arrived at _Shadwell_ _’s_ with Anathema. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone to a pub, so he wasn’t entirely sure how to dress for it. In the end, he settled on a light blue button down and some faded trousers. Anathema insisted that he pushed the sleeves up to his elbows, so he went and did that as well. Also at her insistence, he’d put a tiny bit of product in his hair, pushing his unruly curls back just a smidge.

“You’re much less dowdy professor now and more worldly scholar,” she’d told him with a sly wink. “I won’t be surprised to see you go home with someone tonight.”

Aziraphale laughed outright at the idea.

“What’s so funny?”

“I’m pretty sure once we walk into the door they’re going to think you’re my daughter.”

“Who the hell goes to the pub with their _dad?_ ” she said as they walked right up to the entrance, her big book of prophecies still tucked under her arm. She never seemed to go without it now.

The night commenced smoothly enough. Aziraphale allowed himself to relax as well. He’d almost forgotten what life was like outside of work. It was nice to be able to let loose for a while with his friends. The bantering between Newt and Anathema entertained him greatly. He’d never have thought of it, but they really were perfect for each other. It warmed his heart to see them so happy.

Anathema was telling him a story about the ley lines she found just behind RP Tyler’s house when Aziraphale saw it. Her hand, which laid in its relaxed state on the table in between them, was covered by Newt’s own.

She didn’t pause nor falter with her storytelling. Instead, her eyes moved softly to the side, towards Newt, as she squeezed his hand, a smile adding charm to her soothing voice.

Aziraphale had no idea why this got him down all of a sudden. He can’t imagine him doing any of these things with Crowley. He’d never exchange tender, sidelong glances with him while he was deep into an analysis about nineteenth century literature. Never squeeze his hand reassuringly for no reason other than just to show him that he was _there_. Never shoot him a smile that stayed past its welcome on his lips.

But he really shouldn’t be thinking these thoughts right now.

As if the very thought had summoned the devil, Crowley walked up to their table then.

Newt and Anathema made polite greetings. Aziraphale only stared.

Crowley had on a tight dark shirt, his muscles straining under the fabric, and the skinniest pair of jeans he’d ever seen. His hair seemed to have been styled more artfully than usual. It bunched up at the top and curled a few strands over his forehead. He still had on his sunglasses, adding more to the enigma of his person. Aziraphale could hardly keep his eyes on him for fear that he might _jump_ him right there, in front of his innocent friends.

“Pulsifer, you better get in there,” said Crowley, jerking a thumb at the direction of the billiard tables where much of the other detectives were playing.

“S-sir?” Newt choked.

“ _I_ _’m_ not about to amuse them.”

Newt looked to his girlfriend. She patted his arm. “Go ahead, stay for a few rounds. We’ll just be here.”

He shot her a grateful look. Aziraphale could almost _feel_ the love wafting off of him. “Alright. I’ll see you guys in a bit, then.”

Newt stood from his seat and walked away with Crowley. It was just he and Anathema now. Aziraphale hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until he let out a defeated _whoosh_. Anathema looked at him, slightly amused. “Guess some things just don’t change.”

He took a long sip of his beer, carrying on the conversation with Anathema. It was pleasant, just to be able to sit and relax like this in an atmosphere so different from the station. He felt lighter than he had in weeks.

After a few minutes, Anathema excused herself. “Just gonna go to the restroom, and I might check up on Newt on the way there. Will you be okay here, or do you wanna come with?”

He glanced at where the detectives were still deep in their game of billiards, their booming laughs echoing loudly, competing with the music. He shook his head. “I think I’d like to sit by myself for a bit .”

She nodded and left their booth. Aziraphale leaned against the cushioned backrest, eyes roaming about the people in the room. On second thought, it might not have been a good idea to leave him alone with his thoughts. He wondered what Crowley was doing.

“Hey there, angel.” He perked up at the voice, which turned out to be unfamiliar. He whirled his head to see that a man had approached his table. “Tell me, did it hurt when you fell from heaven?”

Aziraphale stammered in his seat, eyes wide and smile just edging on politeness. The man looked a tad younger than him and wasn’t that bad looking. He had no idea why he’d try for a shot with _him_ out of all the others he could have probably gone for.

Apparently, the man had taken his shock for an invitation to slide into the booth across from him. “You look a bit lonely. Can I buy you a drink?”

Aziraphale could hardly believe this was happening. Frogs may as well start bursting forth from the sky. Armageddon itself could commence. Nothing else would surprise him now. “I’m quite set, as you can see,” he said, holding up his glass of beer. “A-and I actually came here with someone,” he added for good measure, hoping the man would take the hint.

The stranger nodded his head. “Of course. Though I’ll be honest, she seemed no more than a mate.” As if that should have made a difference. Aziraphale was beginning to lose his patience, and he did so despise having to be rude to strangers. It just wasn’t his nature.

“Look,” he said, placing his palms flat on the table. “I do not want to be frank with you, young man—”

“You don’t have to go through the whole spiel,” the stranger replied cockily “I’ve gone with more experienced men before.” He laid a hand on top of Aziraphale’s on the table, grinning slyly.

Aziraphale jerked back his hand like it’d been burned. “ _Leave,_ ” he said tersely, with as much fury as he could muster. He’s had it on good authority that his rage, seldom as they came in nature, could fend off a battalion once it made its presence known. “I have no idea who you are and where you gained the audacity to behave so _smarmily,_ but I—”

“Aziraphale, there you are!” He barely had time to react to the voice, before Crowley slid into the booth right next to him, arm slinging around his shoulder. Just as he was about to turn towards the newcomer, Crowley pulled him flush against his frame and pressed a soft kiss that landed on his forehead. “Sorry ‘bout that. Took me _eons_ to find a spot to park the Bentley. Where’s Book Girl? And who the fuck is this?” He made a vague sort of flailing gesture towards the stranger without once taking his eyes off Aziraphale.

This was all suddenly way too much. Aziraphale tried to keep his reactions in check, but his body was betraying him. _Pull yourself together!,_ he admonished his sluggard of a brain. This was hardly the first time he had been this close to Crowley.

Regardless, there was still a flickering candle lighting up in the pit of his stomach. His heart pounded in his chest. Aziraphale mustered up all his courage. _He_ _’s doing this for you. He’s helping you._ He knew exactly where Anathema was, as she’d gone to check up on Newt and the other detectives. Crowley must’ve known he was left all alone.

“H-hello, my dear. Do you mean this person? He was just _leaving._ ” He pressed all his pent up rage onto that last word, coupled with a glare of finality shot at the stranger.

The intruder held up his hands. “Okay, okay. I get it. Didn’t know he was taken, alright? Wasn’t expecting such a cold welcome.”

“Not that it should matter to _you._ ” Crowley snarled, peering at the man through his sunglasses. “Now, you’re very much welcome to _fuck off_.” His arm tightened around Aziraphale.

With a huff, the man finally stood up and left.

The tension between him and Crowley was thick. Aziraphale resisted the urge to lean just slightly in and bury his nose in the crook of Crowley’s neck, right on the spot where his comforting scent was always most intense.

Once the man had been out of their sight, Crowley pulled away to settle down on the seat, retreating back in his own personal space. Aziraphale instantly missed his warmth. He wiped the clamminess off his hands on the fabric over his thighs.

He should probably be the first to say something. Crowley did help him out after all.

He bit his lip, glancing nervously at the redhead. “I didn’t know you drove a Bentley.”

Well. It was dumb, but at least it was something.

Crowley propped his ankle up on his knee under the table, his arms sprawling out over the backrest of the seat. “1926 model, not a scratch in place. My pride and joy.”

“How very typical of your kind.”

“And what would my _kind_ be, hm? I just saved your arse in there and you repay me with offensive typecasting.” Crowley pressed a hand to his chest, feigning hurt.

Aziraphale let out a soft giggle. “We can’t all be as valiant as you, I’m afraid.” Then, turning serious, he said, “What was even going on in that young man’s head? Surely that air of presumptuousness should have ballooned him off to the exosphere by now. Good riddance.”

“You’re lucky I was in the area,” Crowley drawled, his lips pulled up into a knowing smirk and, oh goodness, was he _flirting?_

“I suppose I was,” he returned in that same thick tone that Crowley had adopted. He wasn’t sure if this was just the effect of them meeting in a different place, but there was a _something_ in the air between them that he couldn’t quite point out.

Crowley’s hand found his over his thigh, a featherlight touch that was only barely grazing, as though requesting permission. The pads of his fingers stroked over Aziraphale’s knuckles. The warmth that shot up was every bit as equal to what he’d felt when Crowley’s entire frame was pressed up against him.

“You look nice,” Crowley said, his voice much softer than its usual register.

Aziraphale bit back the smile fighting its way on his face. “Thank you. As do you.”

His hand unclenched on his thigh and he turned it over, palm upwards. Crowley’s long fingers instantly wove into his. He couldn’t bear to look into Crowley’s face, choosing instead to drill metaphorical holes into his beer glass, which was downright idiotic, really, considering the many _other_ things he and Crowley had already done.

_Still,_ supplied the remnants of the pile of goo that used to be his brain, _this is different somehow._

They’d never done _this_ before.

Their palms pressed. Crowley’s hand was larger and more callous than his. He’d never noticed that before. He chastised his brain as it went with the cheesiest thought that the grooves on Crowley’s palm fit perfectly with his.

Crowley also seemed reluctant to look at him. Aziraphale could only see the back of his head from his peripheral vision, a flurry of flaming red.

Crowley _squeezed_ his hand.

Yes, his _hand_.

Which was why he was at a loss as to how his insides felt the exact same sensation.

They were neither of them talking now, as if afraid that a word passed between them would break whatever this moment was.

Anathema came rounding up from the corner, and the moment Aziraphale spotted her, his entire body froze up and he wrenched his hand away from Crowley.

“I-I, ah—”

Crowley was startled from his lax position, his eyes darting towards Aziraphale. He stammered a few wordless words before he, too, saw Anathema approaching, and seemed to understand.

“Right, yeah. Guess you won’t need me anymore.” He smiled at Aziraphale, but it was rather weak. He stood up, seemingly hesitant to say anything more. “Bye then.”

He walked away. Aziraphale suddenly felt very, very cold.

Anathema slid back into her seat, hand closing over her own beer glass. “Was that Crowley I saw just now? What did he want?”

Aziraphale wasn’t in his seat. His body was there, but he wasn’t. Anathema’s voice barely registered to his ears.

With downcast eyes, he fidgeted with the handle of his glass and managed to speak. “Nothing. Just checking up.”

Anathema seemed to be aware there was something more to this, but thankfully she also sensed that it was something he didn’t want to talk about at the moment.

Aziraphale thought back to Crowley’s hand in his, the adorable flush on his neck as he did so. He’d been a fool to think that this was enough. It had been a fluke—a state of denial deposited so that he dared not get his hopes up. But it caught up to him now, after what Crowley just did. The glaring truth that when it came to Crowley, he was always going to want more.

_I am in big danger._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was surprised at how much longer this chapter turned out than the others (nearly 6000 words). We're halfway through the story! Please let me know how if you're enjoying so far !


	6. Your Type

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is no way for me to force you to imagine Crowley with David Tennant's lockdown hair in this chapter, but it is much encouraged for an improved reading experience.

Once his mind had entertained the flight of fancy, it was difficult for him to stop.

He’d had the entire weekend to himself, plagued with thoughts of _it_ that his entire inner being learned to cling to _it_ by habit. It festered deep within, grasping, clawing its way outward, begging to be expressed.

The idea of him and Crowley. _Together._

It flustered him to consider at first, but by now he’d trained it to be more subtle. He was able to presume his usual appearance, do his usual actions, even though the thought never really left him—followed him around like a cross slung over his back and shoulder, his knees metaphorically buckling under its weight.

It was difficult to spend all that time in his house, where he’d never quite managed to feel at home. He attempted to catch up on some sleep, even baked a few goodies to relieve some of his anxiety. He maneuvered his way through stacks and stacks of books that cluttered his sitting room to tumble down on the couch, grouchily munching on his strawberry shortcake. He tried to read some novels, but none seemed able to retain his attention, not even his old favourites. It was a hopeless case.

Then, in a fit of utter desperation, he’d texted Crowley.

He didn’t mean much by it. At the time, he only wondered what Crowley may be up to on the rare weekends that they weren’t at work. It was short and concise, a show-stopping _“Hello, are you there?”_ which had taken him all of seventeen minutes to type.

He never replied.

Which shouldn’t have been a surprise, really. Crowley probably had better things to do with his weekend than respond to meaningless texts from his… associate _(??)_. What those things may be, Aziraphale had absolutely no idea. Maybe he was watching a film or going out for a nice meal or catching up with old friends. It was weird to imagine Crowley in any of those scenarios, which only drove home the point that he really didn’t know a lot about him outside of work.

But all things good and bad eventually come to pass and soon enough, Monday did roll around and he was surprised to see that he and Crowley had arrived to the station at the same time.

He appeared to have just parked his car, as he was shoving the keys into one of the inner pockets of his jacket. His red hair, now well past his earlobes in length _(was he perhaps growing it out?)_ lit aflame under the sparse sunlight. The hammering returned to Aziraphale’s chest, and every thought he’d learned to suppress over the past two days returned to the forefront as Crowley’s lips pulled up into a warm smile under round dark glasses.

“Hey, Aziraphale,” he said coolly, in stark contrast to the turkey-basted pool of sensations that Aziraphale was currently experiencing.

“Good morning,” he managed to reply as they crossed the main entrance side by side. There was quite a bit of respectable distance maintained between them, but Aziraphale was still hyper-aware of him. “Hope you’ve had a pleasant weekend, Crowley.”

“The best,” replied Crowley, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. “Slept the whole two days off. Sorry I couldn’t respond to your text, by the way. I was knocked out.”

Oh. He had been asleep. Not hanging out with friends or doing any other hobbies Aziraphale may not be aware of. Still, he frowned.

“I didn’t even know that was possible,” said the blond. They walked across the main lobby now, headed toward the lifts. Crowley pressed the ‘Up’ button and they stood waiting by the metal doors. “ _Two days?_ ”

“What can I say,” responded Crowley, “I’m a natural talent. Did have to get up to go to the loo once, though.”

The doors opened in front of them. Crowley stepped in first, followed by him. “That was only one of my concerns about your tale, but thank you?”

They stood still, side by side but much closer this time, as the doors closed once again. Crowley grinned.

“My pleasure.”

It was suddenly very hot inside the lift, and Aziraphale could feel prickly heat traveling up his arm from where it hung millimetres away from Crowley’s. Two simultaneous thoughts flared up in his head: First, that Crowley’s scent was a lot more fresh and intense in the mornings when he hasn’t done much activity yet.

The second was that they had never done it inside the lift before.

Aziraphale ducked his head to the side in silent mortification. _(Seriously. What the hell is **wrong** with you?)_ The lift ground to a halt, and the doors grumbled to open once again.

Crowley glanced sideways at him. “See you ‘round,” he said, gesturing his hand to Aziraphale with a flourish and stepping out.

Aziraphale stood motionless as the lift carried its trek to the next floor, the button of which Crowley had thoughtfully pressed for him since he had forgotten to do so.

* * *

Anathema and Newt have apparently moved in together. To celebrate, Aziraphale was invited for dinner at their new place, which he decided to decline. As fond as he was of the two, he wasn’t sure if he could take much more evidence of his own problem. The idea of seeing their lovey-dovey antics, with the warmth of good food and a cozy dwelling place made his stomach churn. It really was just too much.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Anathema asked him. “You’ve been really out of it these past few days.”

“I’m fine, dear,” he replied. He was getting more used to lying now.

“Sure…” she sighed. “By the way, are you free this Wednesday night?”

Aziraphale never had any plans, so he nodded. “What for?”

“I asked Oscar—that is, my lecturer on ancient scripts—if he was free for a date with you and he said yes.”

Aziraphale released a strained smile. “Oh, yes. I am… I will think about it, Anathema.”

She snorted. “Yeah. Think real _hard._ ” She shot him a knowing glare.

What it was she knew exactly, Aziraphale had no idea. It seemed that not having ideas had become his specialty in recent days.

* * *

In truth, he also had no idea what to expect when he went to see Crowley in his office that night. They didn’t meet up every evening, only when they both had relatively less work to do. Neither of them were particularly keen on abandoning their workload for a round of sex—unless it got really bad and they needed a bit of reprieve.

When Aziraphale went down to Crowley’s office that night and saw him hunched over his laptop, his face contorted gravely and a mug of coffee held in his hand, he knew this wasn’t to be one of those nights. During times like these, he usually only lingered for a bit of a chat then went on about his merry way to leave Crowley to finish his work.

Now, though, everything seemed different.

The door was wide open, but the blinds have been shut, despite the fact that no other detective was in the room. There weren’t any major cases at the moment, so no one had to work extra hours. Still, Crowley stayed on his desk as though he’d been at home all along. He wondered briefly if the sight of bare, wide spaces made Crowley uncomfortable, hence the drawn blinds.

But all that thinking had been _very_ brief, made in the half a second it took for him to step into the room and shut the door behind him, lock clicking shut between his clammy fingers.

Crowley looked up in surprise, eyes bare and slightly red-rimmed. “Aziraphale?” He sat still, blinking away the bleariness from his golden eyes. “Did you need something?”

Aziraphale drew in a deep breath. “No, there isn’t anything I need.”

Confusion fought its way across Crowley’s face as he nodded. “Okay. You wanna take a seat then?” he asked, gesturing to the sofa.

“No, thank you.”

Crowley leaned forward in his seat. “There’s something wrong. What’s bothering you?”

Aziraphale strode across the room, bypassing the desk to stand right in front of Crowley, their knees brushing. He watched as Crowley’s expression grew darker the nearer he approached.

“Crowley.”

“D’you wanna talk—”

A hand reached out to clasp fiery red locks, another to yank at his tie, and Crowley’s lips collided with Aziraphale’s.

Crowley groaned against his mouth, his palms reaching up to cup his jaw, drawing him closer. Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered shut at the sensation. They kissed with practiced reciprocity, a dance which by now had long been perfected.

“Zira… _nghhh_ … angel—” Crowley mumbled against his lips in between fervent pecks. “This isn’t… a good time.”

Aziraphale slid his hands down to Crowley’s shoulders, pushing him to lean back on his seat. A wind of breath slipped past the redhead’s lips as he stared up at Aziraphale in shock, his pupils blown wide.

He slid himself down to straddle Crowley’s lap. He wound his arms around Crowley’s neck, pressing wet kisses on the underside of his jaw. Crowley released a low, drawn out moan, his erection stirring against Aziraphale’s groin.

He pulled back, taking in the DI’s dazed expression. Seizing Crowley’s wrists, he guided them to lay palms down over his spread thighs.

“You were saying, my dear?”

“ _Nnngk._ ” Crowley stammered, his voice heady with arousal as he ran his hands over the expanse of Aziraphale’s plush thighs, his swollen lips grazing over Aziraphale’s. “S’pose I could… take a break for a bit.”

Aziraphale hastily unbuttoned his own waistcoat, then his shirt, which Crowley slipped past his shoulders. They fell into a heap on the floor and for once he did not care at all about what happened to them. He was left only in his vest as Crowley’s warm hands slid over his bare shoulders, down the full flesh of his arms and back up again.

Crowley was straining under his denims, and Aziraphale gave it a good grind. The movement sent a sharp gasp to Crowley’s lips, his head snapping back in pleasure, beautiful amber eyes clamped shut. Like a sculpture carved from the finest marble. He lunged at Crowley’s lips before he could regain his position, his neck craning down, kissing him like he was running out of air, his tongue bathing in the relict warmth and taste of coffee.

He rolled his hips, sitting on Crowley’s cock and earning him a groan of satisfaction. Crowley curled his fingers on his sides, trailing a path down to the swell of his bum, and everything was alive within Aziraphale. He whined, his arms woven around Crowley’s neck, keeping him close. It wasn’t enough. He needed Crowley _closer_ somehow. There was never quite enough of him, the sensation clenching deeply into an emptiness in his chest.

“Crowley,” he whispered, bordering on pleading, “fuck me, please.”

Crowley looked up at him, eyes glinting with slight concern. One of his hands came up to cup Aziraphale’s cheek and he leaned slightly into the touch.

“Like this? Really?”

Aziraphale nodded, not knowing what else to say. “Please.”

Crowley regarded him a couple seconds more with that tender look before it hardened into steel in a flash. With that look, Aziraphale knew, he didn’t need to be told twice. Crowley would do anything for him.

“Get these off, then,” he commanded, his hand tugging on the waistband of Aziraphale’s trousers, slipping the tips of his fingers inside. Aziraphale thrilled with warmth, nodding.

It was slightly awkward as he stood up for a bit and got rid of his trousers and underwear, but not even that odd deterrent seemed to discourage Crowley, who ogled him all throughout with an expression of raw hunger.

“Do you—” Aziraphale choked out.

“Top drawer,” replied Crowley automatically, gesturing to a file cabinet behind Aziraphale.

He went over to it immediately, pulling out a bottle of lube, still there from the last time they’d needed it.

When he slid back onto Crowley’s lap, fervent and attentive hands were ready to receive him. They caressed and stroked every stretch of skin bared, worked delicately on stretching his hole, and later on guiding him to move up and down Crowley’s cock. The pace was slow at first as Aziraphale allowed himself to acclimatize to the intrusion. Soon though they were moving in sync, meeting each other’s thrusts with enthusiasm. Aziraphale rolled his hips once more, relishing the feel of Crowley’s hardened cock, gearing himself for sweet release.

“ _Crowley!_ ” he gasped as the DI snapped his hips upwards, slamming his cock deep inside of him. “My dear. G-get behind me. _Now_ , Crowley!”

Crowley let out a snarl, entrapping his bottom lip between his teeth. “Needy angel,” he remarked teasingly.

This time, though, Aziraphale wasn’t in the mood to banter back. He ducked his head. “I’m sorry.”

Crowley’s hips stilled, his finger coming up to tip Aziraphale’s chin to face him. “Hey, I’m having none of that. I should send you a gift for letting me fuck you like this.” He groaned, thrusting upwards, bouncing Aziraphale on his lap and making him squeak, to emphasize his point. “You feel so fucking good, angel. I’m honoured.”

Aziraphale’s flush crept from his neck down to the expanse of his chest. He really never knew how to respond when Crowley complimented him like this.

“Now _really,_ ” Crowley drawled, craning upwards to capture his lips into a chaste kiss. “What do you want for Christmas, eh?”

Aziraphale giggled softly at that. “You utter buffoon.” He pressed his lips together, fighting back a smile.

Crowley pulled him up off his lap, placing a hand on a sparse area of cleared space over his desk. He growled low. “Bend over.”

Aziraphale very much did.

Crowley stood up and slammed his cock back into him. He keened, his hands scrambling to make a white-knuckled grip on the surface’s edge. It dug sharply into his palms. The new position allowed Crowley to adjust his angle so that he’s slamming into Aziraphale’s prostate with each thrust. Waves of pleasure racked his frame until he was sobbing with it. Crowley bent over him, imprinting kisses to his nape, denting his lips on creamy white skin, his hot breath on Aziraphale’s ear and his raspy moans rung clearly to Aziraphale, sending heat down to his belly.

Crowley pulled himself all the way out before snapping his hips back in. Aziraphale lurched forward, his arm knocking to the side and sending Crowley’s laptop as well as a flurry of pens clattering to the floor.

“Oh dear!” He yelped, pushing himself up on his hands. Crowley gave a hard shove to his spine, pressing him back down to lie on the surface.

“ _Leave it_ ,” he growled. Aziraphale frantically nodded, eyes shut and cheek squished against cold metal as he allowed Crowley to take him with ruthless abandon. Tears prickled his lids as his brain lost all sensation but the feel of Crowley’s cock repeatedly slamming into him. Crowley groaned and bit into his shoulder.

“Feel so fucking good you’re so good to me angel so tight, so bloody _gorgeousss_ —” Crowley continued to let out a litany of breathless praises as his hand came to grasp Aziraphale’s cock, pumping him to completion. “Come for me, angel.”

With one last screaming sigh, and a moan of Crowley’s name, Aziraphale spilled into his hand, his knees giving way beneath him.

Crowley thrust into him a couple more times before he climaxed, his body dropping weight onto Aziraphale’s back, his pulsating cock buried to the hilt inside of him. He moaned, placing light kisses down the length of Aziraphale’s spine.

Coming down from their highs, Crowley pulled himself out, breathing heavily. Aziraphale stood up on wobbly knees, lightly gasping at the sensation of Crowley’s spend sliding out of his hole.

Crowley reached over somewhere behind him and procured a box of tissues, which he gratefully took. Wordlessly, they cleaned themselves up as best they could and put their rumpled clothes back on their bodies now reeking with the stench of sex.

The DI, with his shirt still half open over his chest, leaned down to pick up his laptop, frowning at a newly formed dent on one of its corners.

“Goodness,” remarked Aziraphale, his cheeks still warm from the glow of his orgasm. “I am so very sorry.”

Crowley shrugged, set it back on the desk, and turned it on. “As long as it’s still working, it— _shit._ I think I forgot to save.”

“Ah—right, you were… You were in the middle of something.” Aziraphale flustered up, his back ramrod straight with shame.

Crowley crouched over the keyboard panel and did a few clicks. “Buggering _fuck._ ” he muttered under his breath, scowling at the computer screen. “Yeah, I’m gonna have to retype all that.”

Without taking his eyes off the screen, he reached behind him to pull the chair towards his body and gracelessly plopped down on it, typing furiously. Keyboard clicks filled the room with a stuttering rhythm that mimicked the sudden guilt pounding Aziraphale’s heart.

“Crowley, I’m—”

“Sorry. Can we talk later? I’m really a bit pressed for time here.”

He bit his lip, his fingers wrenching in front of him. “R-right, of course, Crowley. I will see you… later.”

“Hmm.”

It didn’t look like he was gonna get more than that. With a slight gait in his step, Aziraphale exited the room and, after gathering his stuff, went straight home.

* * *

In the end, Aziraphale ended up going on that blind date Anathema set up for him.

He’d been feeling guilty about all the lying he’d done, and anyway he might as well. Perhaps, though not fully elucidated with all the facts, she may have a point. He needed to get over Crowley _somehow_.

What he had with Crowley was good. It was fun, but it was glaringly obvious that he didn’t mean as much to Crowley as Crowley did to him. It didn’t even hurt to admit that—it’s as simple as spouting facts. A single bullet out of a list of intrinsic truths discovered about the universe. It shouldn’t affect him at all, since it was his fault for getting more invested in their not-relationship than he ought to.

And it looked like Anathema _was_ right. Oscar was exactly his type—chivalrous, well-read, and showed an appreciation for the finer things in life. He’d never dated anyone he had this much in common with before. They had dinner at the Rose Garden, an Italian dining spot in Tadfield. Romantic and respectable. He expected some awkwardness, but there was none. Oscar was friendly and engaging, _funny_ even. Aziraphale got out a few hearty laughs before they were through with the appetizers. It was looking to be a great night indeed.

But he wasn’t Crowley.

His mobile began to buzz in his pocket. Oscar paused his storytelling.

“Oh, you should get that,” he said warmly.

Aziraphale shot him a grateful smile. “Thank you. I will go check who it is first.”

He pulled the mobile out of his jacket pocket, reading _Anthony Crowley_ on the caller ID. Guilt sunk in his chest. Did Crowley know where he was, and what he was doing? He’d never had reason to call Aziraphale before. His heart slammed in his chest as the mobile continued to buzz on his palm. He glanced at Oscar, seeing his expectant look, and his thoughts ground to a halt.

What was he worried about? He had no reason to feel guilty. It’s not like he and Crowley were an _item_.

Mentally grumbling, he switched off his phone and shoved it back in its previous place.

Oscar spoke. “Was that alright? It might be important.”

Aziraphale folded his hands over the table’s edge. He had nothing to feel guilty about. He wasn’t even on-call for tonight. God forbid the station learn to manage without him for just one night. He put on a reassuring smile. “It’s nothing that can’t wait ‘til tomorrow. Sorry for the interruption. Will you continue with your tale?”

* * *

Crowley stood by Newt’s desk and pulled a sheet paper from inside one brown folder that he’d just been handed, scouring the written contents—which was _practically nothing_. He took in the sloppily prepared forensics report with a grimace.

“What the hell is this? There’s nothing here!” He slammed the folder on the desk in front of Newt, who startled in his seat. “Who did this?”

“I believe it was Sandalphon, sir?”

“Of _course_ it was.” He took a deep breath in and a heavier one out. He thought he’d seen the worst of the Tadfield force by now, but every day was just a new opportunity to surprise him. His eyes drew shut, fingers coming to lift his glasses and pinch the bridge of his nose. “Can you contact him? See if he can fill-in the other details?”

“I… could. But, honestly I don’t see the point, sir. It’s usually Aziraphale who fills in the missing details in their reports,” Newt explained. “He has a good memory for these things.”

“ _Aziraphale?_ ”

The DS nodded. “Fell, sir, from SOCO—”

“I know who he is, Pulsifer,” grumbled Crowley impatiently.

“Right. Well, that is, we’re better off asking him instead.”

With a sharp sigh, Crowley slid his phone out of his pocket and dialed Aziraphale’s number.

It rang for several moments, then promptly shut off.

Crowley stood glaring at his phone like he was going to set it ablaze. “He’s not answering. What on earth’s he doing?”

“Oh!” Newt piped up, earning him another glare from Crowley for no reason other than that he _could_. “Stupid me, I’d forgotten he’s out on that date tonight.”

Crowley’s phone nearly slipped out of his hand. It wobbled for a split second before he caught it in a steel tight grip.

“ _What_. _Date._ ”

Newt continued to speak in his usual manner, incognizant of the venom in Crowley’s tone. “My girlfriend set him up on a date with her ancient scripts instructor. They’re probably having dinner somewhere.”

“Ancient _ssscriptss_? Is Aziraphale even into that?”

“I-I-I honestly don’t know, sir. But I think he would be.”

Crowley glanced back at his phone, resisting the urge to try and call again. His jaw clenched.

“We’ll just get to this shit in the morning.” He walked towards the office kitchen for a glass of water, muttering all throughout to himself. “Stupid buggering idiotic _imbeciles_ , sad excuses for officers—”

Aziraphale was on a date.

And not with _him_.

Why would Aziraphale go on a date with someone and not him? What did that mean? Crowley thought they were getting along fine. If Aziraphale wanted to go on a date, why won’t it be with him?

He grumbled as he set the glass down on the counter and filled it with water. Did Aziraphale not like his company? That seemed absurd. They wouldn’t have spent as much time together as they did if that was true. What was it that he wanted? Was it precisely that—dinners in fancy restaurants while talking about ancient scripts?

Then why won’t he do those with _him_?

Crowley could take him to any good old restaurant. He wouldn’t be eating much, but he’d be perfectly and pleasantly enjoying the conversation and company. He had not a single mind nor care for ancient scripts, but he could learn, if it really mattered that much to him. He’d treat Aziraphale to lunches as well, since he seemed to enjoy good food a lot. He’d make him laugh in that cute giggly way that made him more radiant. He could drive him back home and send him off, thank him for the pleasant night. Didn’t all that sound great?

Unless.

The problem was _him_.

What if Aziraphale just didn’t want to do any of those things with him?

If so, what _did_ he want?

* * *

It was a nice dinner. Really, it was. After they’d finished at the restaurant, they took a stroll down the park, and Oscar had offered to accompany him to his house.

The night breeze was serene on Aziraphale’s fevered skin as they walked at a comfortable pace. It was one of those pleasant nights where the sky was clear enough that stars could be seen dotting the velvety dark blue. The date was going well, and he was flustered to think that Oscar seemed actually _interested_.

Still, the problem was that he—oh, you know the rest.

“No offence, but I do wonder how you have never married,” said Aziraphale, his eyes trained on the path before him, contented with just seeing the natural sights of Tadfield—so different from the strolls he’d taken back at the cramped streets of Soho.

“I dunno, to be honest,” replied his companion, who now appeared to be in deep thought. “It never crossed my mind to? But then again, you probably understand how it is with people like us.”

 _Us._ How odd. “What do you mean by that?”

“You know. Us.” Oscar said, shrugging. “Drawn to books and history and art. We’re too _quirky_. So quirky that we fade into the background.”

Aziraphale had to admit that was spot on. “Yes, I—can imagine. Sometimes I do feel that hardly anybody notices me. Or that I’m completely invisible.”

“And isn’t it just the strangest thing?” continued Oscar, his voice riding out a tone of deep conviction—a true lecturer. “We drive people away because we’re into books. But reading has inherently been a social activity. The creation of fictional works was made for the passage of stories. To read to yourself was the same as to read to others, and to have those people listen to you. Reading used to be a two-way street, ‘round two, three centuries ago.”

Aziraphale smiled as he let this idea fester. “That is… entirely true. Before the age of television and mobiles, to refuse to read—whether as a storyteller or a listener, is to be rudely antisocial. How odd that it’s what made me so much of a loner _now_.”

“Just consider, if we’d been alive in, say the 1800s, we would have been the most popular kids on the block. Would’ve had a hard time keeping everyone away.”

He laughed. “Then perhaps I’m better off as I am now.”

They reached the front of Aziraphale’s house. They acknowledged that the date had been pleasant. They shook hands. There was no talk of meeting again.

At the very least, Aziraphale thought, he seemed to have made a friend.

* * *

Work commenced as usual the next day. Anathema had inquired about the date, and he’d told her the truth. Oscar was great, they had a good time, but there wasn’t really enough of a _spark_ to continue in the romantic sense. She looked a little bummed about it but didn’t prod further.

“At least you went,” she told him. “I know you probably did it more for my sake than yours, so thanks.”

“It’s fine, dear. Now, shall I be taking these—” he gestured towards the crate of bagged evidence in front of her, “—to storage?”

“Yup. Oh, and Newt told me the DI needs to speak with you about some reports. You should probably stop by CID on the way.”

Aziraphale gripped the crate’s handles tightly. He’d forgotten about that call from Crowley last night. In his short moment of deep, frustrated denial, he might have missed out on some important work matter. He would set out to look for him as soon as he was done with storage.

He trotted to the lower floor, where the storage room was, but he’d have to go through the corridor and pass by CID first. To his complete shock, Crowley stepped out into that same corridor just as Aziraphale went out of the lift.

They locked eyes for one grave moment.

Crowley was still as a statue, his handsome face set in stone.

“H-hello, Crowley.” He tried for a wide smile, but probably came out looking more like a painful wince. He continued walking down the hall, Crowley followed a step behind him. “I heard that you needed to see me. What did Sandalphon do this time, hm?”

Crowley said not a word.

Fine, if he was going to be a pain in the arse about it, he wasn’t going to push. He had every right to reject work-related calls in his out-of-work hours, he reminded himself. He’d done nothing wrong.

They approached the door to the storage room now. As both of Aziraphale’s hands were occupied with the crate, Crowley took the liberty of opening it for him.

“Thank you, dear,” he said kindly, stepping into the room and setting the crate down on the nearest table. He stepped back, surprised when his arm bumped into Crowley’s.

Crowley only stood, his face in perfect lack of expression.

Aziraphale swallowed. “Did you need something in here as well, Crowley?”

With a smooth shove, the door swung shut behind Crowley, plunging the room into total darkness. Aziraphale heard the sound of the lock clicking.

“Matter of fact, _angel_ , I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first time I've written penetration smut and I'm feeling equal parts ridiculous and embarrassed HAHA  
> I'll try to make up for it with tons of fluff in the following chapters, as at least I know I'm quite decent with *that*
> 
> Thanks for 100+ kudos! Every single one means a lot to me, and I really enjoy getting to know your reactions to each chapter. Take care everyone! Also, follow me on twitter: @angelsnuffbox I swear I can be really funny sometimes.


	7. Let's Get Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Berry / @yourpolishmate for beta-ing this chapter and making my weird word choices so so much better so you guys don't have to suffer through them!
> 
> Oh, and I strongly recommend you go back to the last few sentences of the previous chapter so you can kinda get a feel of where we are right now :)

Crowley herded him to the nearest wall. Aziraphale stared bravely, the tips of their shoes touching. When his back hit the wall, there was nothing in him that showed the slightest bit of concern. He didn’t do anything wrong.

But he wanted Crowley so much.

The DI took off his glasses, the room was sufficiently dark after all, and tucked them inside of his coat. The only thing Aziraphale could make out was Crowley’s face, dimly lit by some rays of light streaming in from the sole box-shaped window somewhere in the room. He watched this movement with light anticipation. When Crowley swooped in, nose grazing his cheek, he craned his neck to receive a kiss that never came.

Crowley smirked.

“What do you want, angel?” he whispered hoarsely, the vibrations of his voice felt as a curl in Aziraphale’s abdomen. His fingers found Aziraphale’s cheekbone in a featherlight stroke.

“You tease,” replied Aziraphale, but there was no snark in it, which seemed to delight Crowley even more.

Crowley leaned back in, pressing his nose to Aziraphale’s ear, trailing hot breath down to his chin, never quite fully touching. Aziraphale was about to burst into flames. His hands clenched into fists, to keep from reaching out to him.

“Tell me,” Crowley whispered again, “what you want.”

He shivered. His eyes clamped shut, his mind losing itself to the sensations stirring inside him. The heat from having Crowley so close was overwhelming him, clouding all his senses. “Crowley, please.”

“You have to tell me, angel.”

“Well, you came here to do _something_ .” He managed to get the irritation across in his voice. “If that wasn’t to kiss me senseless then this ought to be _very_ embarrassing for you.”

“Is that what you want? A _kissss_?”

“What is going on, Crowley?”

“Kiss where?” returned he, blatantly ignoring the question. His hand trailed up to Aziraphale’s neck— “Here?”—slid up to caress, palm to his jaw— “ _Here?_ ”—his thumb jutting out to stroke his chin, stopping to brush the pad over his lower lip— “Or… _here?_ ”

Aziraphale matched his steel gaze. Crowley was trying to get him to talk, trying to play him like a fiddle. He wasn’t about to submit to it.

“What’s wrong, Aziraphale?” Crowley drawled, the upturned corner of his mouth exuding victory. “Cat got your tongue?”

Aziraphale opened his mouth, his tongue sliding out to glide against Crowley’s thumb before sealing it firmly between his lips. A triumphant chuckle got stuck in Crowley’s throat which gave a way to a surprised groan.

He flicked his tongue over the pad of Crowley’s thumb, creating soft suction and sending the rest of its length plunging in. Crowley could only regard him with a wide-eyed look, entirety of his amber pupils locked onto him. He was an insect, trapped inside them. He let the finger go with a loud pop, his chin held high.

Crowley’s mouth was on him in a flash, hot and open, his tongue filling in the ministrations his thumb had been up to just a second ago. Aziraphale pulled him close by his lapels, sighing deeply into his mouth.

He was entirely pinned to the wall by every inch of Crowley’s body, pressing insistently onto him. Crowley’s lips moved from his mouth to place soft pecks on his chin and down to his neck.

“Angel. You need to tell me what you want.”

“What is it with your insistence on that?” he couldn’t help but ask. “Is it not obvious?”

Crowley drew back to stare at him eye to eye, hand pressing to the wall beside his head. “No. I’ve no fucking idea.”

It was a wonder to him, how Crowley couldn’t see it. But if he was to give him an honest answer then it was likely this encounter would be their last. And yet, as he regarded the yellowish specks of sunlight on Crowley’s hair, and that adoringly attentive way he always looked at Aziraphale, the urge to tell the truth became too hard to resist.

“I want to hold you, Crowley.”

Crowley blinked, as if he’d misheard him. “What?”

“Please let me hold you.”

“Hngk— _why?_ ”

Aziraphale ducked his chin. “I can’t tell you that. Just say yes.”

“Yes.”

Aziraphale’s arms came up to his torso, wrapping around his lean body, tightening at his back. He pressed Crowley flush against him, tucking his cheek onto Crowley’s shoulder to breathe in deeply at his neck, the scent he missed the most bringing him instant comfort.

Crowley stood still and unmoving, even as Aziraphale’s hands began to stroke up and down the length of his back. Aziraphale closed his eyes, taking this all in, pretending they were somewhere else—at his home (because maybe it would become a home with Crowley in it), spending a lazy day with Crowley, lavishing him with affection just because. The vision was fragmented, threatening to collapse around him.

“Crowley, please hold me,” he choked out.

Lanky arms wound around his shoulders obediently. He felt lips press against his hair.

Aziraphale released a contented hum, smiling against Crowley’s clavicle, letting the fluttering warmth blossom in his stomach. It was fine, if only for a moment, to allow himself to believe all of this was real.

Crowley spoke after a few seconds, softly. Hesitantly. “Is there… anything else you want?”

Aziraphale shook his head, tightening his arms around him again. His lips grazed over fine collarbone when he whispered, “This is all.”

Briefly he worried whether Crowley would find this odd.

“Okay,” replied Crowley, one hand cradling the back of his head, threading through locks of platinum white hair.

Aziraphale’s hands trailed a path up Crowley’s back, stopping to grasp at the tops of his shoulder blades, his fingernails digging in ever so slightly as though to etch a fond memory into his skin—however small it may be. He could do this. He could have this and not have to ask for more. This was more than enough.

His insides contorted, pain sinking into his chest.

 _Hold me,_ was what he’d said.

 _Love me_ , was what he’d meant.

Momentum was already built up, a catalyst was all it needed. Once it started, the rest came through as water in a dam burst. _Love me. Only me. I love you so hard it burns me._

He felt himself squeezed just a little tighter, Crowley’s breath in his ear. He let out an involuntary whimper.

“ _An_ —Aziraphale?” asked Crowley in a voice so tender it nearly broke him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he replied. “You are perfect.” And he meant it.

Crowley was perfect. He was, all of a sudden, _everything_.

But it came to his realization that they might have been in there for quite some time now, and it all had to come to an end eventually. He released Crowley from his hold.

“You step out first. I will follow a little while after,” he said as if they’d done something they needed to be discreet about.

And perhaps they had.

Crowley stepped back, arms hanging loosely at his sides. They were, once again, back on their own.

“Alright, I’m… I’ll head out.”

Aziraphale gave him a small smile, strained. “Mind how you go.”

“But—” said Crowley, grasping his hand suddenly and tugging on it. It appeared like he made a split-second decision. “—Let’s do something. Tonight. Dinner.”

Aziraphale’s heart went somersaulting in his throat. “What? Why?”

“Can’t tell you,” he quipped, echoing his earlier words. “Just say yes.”

Confused as he was, Aziraphale didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

Crowley’s lips stretched out into a beautiful dopey grin, bringing up his hand and pressing a kiss to Aziraphale’s palm. “I’ll swing by later after work.”

“You do that,” he replied in a voice unfamiliar to him.

Crowley let his hand go, and in one smooth movement, was out of the room. Aziraphale’s back crashed to rest against the wall. He frowned at thin air.

What the _heck_ just happened?

* * *

Aziraphale watched the seconds tick by on the wall clock as he waited for his shift to end. If he made do with his promise, Crowley should be ‘swinging by’ any moment now. Several others in Forensics were already preparing to go, with only a couple staying late. Anathema dropped by his desk.

“You doing a long night again?” she asked.

Aziraphale paled. “I-I, no. I’ll be leaving in a bit.”

“Really? Great, I’ll wait for you to finish up and we can walk home together with Newt.”

Panic rose up in his throat, his mind drawing up a blank. “N-no! I mean, that is—you do not need to wait for me, dear. I will be… a while.”

Her brows furrowed behind her specs. “But you’ve just said you were going home ‘in a bit’.”

“I forgot there’s something!” He beamed. “Err… something that I still need to get to.”

“You’re acting very weird.”

From a distance, he heard the lift doors open. A familiar head of ginger hair appeared out of his peripheral vision.

“I-ahh, will be working with Crowley tonight!” he explained quickly, shooting up from his seat to gather his stuff. Crowley waited by the entryway.

“Crowley? What does _he_ need?” she asked, voiced laced with irritation. “Hasn’t he bothered Newt enough, now he has to keep bugging you too? You need to set some boundaries.”

Aziraphale felt a slight flush on his cheeks. As far as he was concerned, Crowley could keep on ‘bugging’ him anytime. He spoke through gritted teeth. “Anathema, he’s right _there_.” He shot a quick glance over at Crowley’s direction.

She whipped her head to the doorway, where Crowley leaned against the frame, his long legs crossed by the ankle as he pushed back his sleeve to check his ridiculously modern-looking wristwatch.

She turned back to face Aziraphale. “Shit. I’m sorry you have to go through this, man.”

Aziraphale nodded much too enthusiastically. “O-Oh indeed, it is _quite_ the pickle… isn’t it?” He gently began to push her to the door. “Then, you and Newt take care!”

A puzzled look crossed her face as she stepped out of his reach. “Fine. Good night then,” she said in a resigned tone.

When she got to the entryway, she paused to glare daggers at Crowley.

Crowley regarded her from the tops of his glasses. “What’re you lookin’ at?”

“You better be good to him,” she warned. “You may have everyone else here under your thumb but Aziraphale is the best and kindest—”

“Oookay!” Aziraphale strode his way to them, gently shoving out of the way. “That’s quite enough of that! Do take care, my dear, and send my love to Newt, will you?”

With one last meaningful look, Anathema finally withdrew to the lift.

Aziraphale was too afraid to look at Crowley.

“What the hell was that about?” asked Crowley, suddenly appearing at his side.

“N-nothing. You know how Anathema is, sometimes. Strange girl, she is.”

Crowley nodded slowly. “Well, anyways. You ready to go?”

“Yes. Uh, but where will we go exactly?”

He shrugged. “Was thinking maybe you could choose? I don’t really have a preference.”

“Not have a preference? You’ve been in Tadfield for several months now, surely you’ve found a comfort restaurant.”

“Is there even such a thing?” Crowley asked as they moved down to the ground floor.

“How can there _not_ be?” asked Aziraphale, genuinely baffled. “Food and books are the only things you can always turn back to, no matter how scruffy your day has been. How bad you are feeling.”

The corner of Crowley’s lips pulled up into an amused grin. “They really mean that much to you, huh?”

Aziraphale blushed. He kept forgetting that not everyone shared his enthusiasm for such mundane things. It was something that came up more than once in his past relationships—not that _this_ was considered a relationship. Far from it, actually.

Tragically.

Still, Crowley had invited him to dinner. Picked him up from work (technically, though they worked in the same place). Was now taking him to his car. If the setting was all there, wouldn’t it be a waste not to play pretend for a while? He slid into the passenger seat of Crowley’s Bentley, buckling himself in.

“So, ideas,” said Crowley, starting up the vehicle. His bony fingers wrapped around the wheel, tapping a light rhythm. “Anywhere you want to go, Aziraphale.”

To talk to him, Aziraphale had to turn to his side. This turned out to be a health hazard, as he was given full view of Crowley’s marvelous profile.

With his gaze trained to the hood of the car as they pulled out of the parking spot, Aziraphale allowed himself a few moments of surreptitious staring at the smattering of freckles over his skin, the slight crook of his pointed nose, the quirk of his lip which put a dimple to his cheek, as well as the light waves of his hair as it fell down the back of his ear. Absolutely stunning. Wholly and entirely breathtaking. Just looking at him set a fit of butterflies fluttering in his stomach.

Crowley glanced at him. “Aziraphale?”

“Hm?”

“Where should we go?”

Aziraphale’s face heated up in flames again. Dear god, he really should learn to control himself. It would do neither of them good for him to keep on zoning out every time he wanted to appreciate Crowley’s devastatingly attractive face.

He stammered. “I-I know a place. I’ll give you directions.”

* * *

They managed to make it in one piece to one of Aziraphale’s little favorites—a casual dining restaurant with combined East Asian cuisine. One of the many things he’d missed when he left Soho was the easy access to the most delectable selections of pad thai and sashimi. Here in Tadfield, this was the place that gave him a little bit of that comfort. Most of the food was subpar but their Japanese was surprisingly decent.

Aziraphale stepped out of the vehicle, swaying lightly on his feet. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, given what he knew about him so far, that Crowley drove like a demon. Late for an appointment. And also on fire. Aziraphale had a white-knuckled grip on the edge of his seat all throughout, but he muscled his way through it. God help him if Crowley knew about this. He was so stupidly, _glaringly_ in love.

They sat at Aziraphale’s favorite spot, next to the glass window. Night had befallen by now, and a scattering of street lamp lights hid much of the scenery from view, but that was alright. He had much better scenery to appreciate now.

Aziraphale looked over the menu with glee, even though he already knew what to order. Crowley scowled at the list of items.

“Something wrong, my dear?” he asked, the endearment slipping out of him in a tone so affectionate, yet it did so naturally that it registered only with light shock. Crowley luckily didn’t seem to notice.

“Err… That is, I dunno what I want. Why don’t you order for me?”

Aziraphale smiled. “I am sorry. I supposed I should’ve chosen a place that is more familiar to your palate.”

Crowley hastily shook his head. “N-no! No, s’fine. Really. Truly. If we’d gone with that, we’d starve. Not a huge fan of eating, me.”

“Shame,” remarked Aziraphale in a gentle tone. “But I could hardly complain, it gives me opportunity to introduce you to even more new restaurants.”

He heard the words only as they left his mouth, and instantly wanted to slap himself. What was he saying? Why did he assume that there would _be_ more opportunities, that Crowley would want to go out with him again?—Shit, not _out_ out. Just—this wasn’t a date!!!

Crowley had turned slightly pink, his chin suddenly ducked down to the table as he garbled a bit of meaningless sounds. “Errghh y-yeah, I’d like that.”

A warm feeling settled in Aziraphale’s chest. The waiter approached their table and he placed their orders. In a few more moments, Crowley increasingly relaxed in his seat.

When the food came, Aziraphale tucked into his teriyaki chicken heartily, the sweet, smoky sauce filling his tongue with warm comfort. The texture of the sesame seeds with the tenderness of the meat won him out and he let out a delighted moan. Everything else disappeared—nearly.

Crowley regarded him with an intense look, chin propped on his hand, leaning forward in his seat.

“I’m pretty sure _I’ve_ never made you make those sounds before.”

The chicken strip lodged itself into Aziraphale’s throat. He coughed and sputtered against it, blushing furiously. Had Crowley really just referred to _that_ out loud?

He looked wide-eyed at the DI. Crowley pushed a glass of water toward him. He took it and gulped quickly.

“Crowley!” He admonished, still blushing, unable to look into his eyes. He focused on the glass instead.

For his part, Crowley appeared to be a bit flustered as well—as if he’d said something that he hadn’t meant to say out loud.

Aziraphale could tell he was trying to put on his nonchalant act. Crowley shrugged, sticking chopsticks into his zaru soba noodles and taking in a mouthful. “Just observing,” he said coolly.

The way Crowley was avoiding his gaze was adorable. And if he was being honest, despite the fact that he’d nearly been driven to asphyxia by it, it _had_ been an endearing statement. He giggled.

“Wot?” asked Crowley, an eyebrow raised.

“Never thought you’d be jealous of a piece of chicken.”

Crowley looked downright _mortified_ , his entire face contorting into a pained expression. “I! I’m not jealous! Don’t be stupid.”

It gave him a bit of satisfaction to see Crowley as the one being flustered for once. He shook his head as his giggles died down. Crowley busied himself with slurping more strands of soba.

Noticing that Aziraphale was still staring, he paused mid-slurp, noodles hanging out from between his thin lips. “Wut now?”

Aziraphale reached over with his hand to push a bowl of liquid towards him. “You’re supposed to dip them in sauce, my dear.” This time, the endearment was on the tip of his tongue and he allowed it to slide out. “The soba doesn’t have any flavour. You’ve been eating bland noodles the entire time.”

A few strands fell back into the bowl, sending thin nori strips flying as Crowley glared sharply at him. “I knew that,” he grumbled defensively. “I prefer them bland.”

“You’re incorrigible,” said Aziraphale in a fond tone. He returned to his own meal, holding back a huge smile.

Ever so stubborn, Crowley resolved to ignore the sauce for the rest of the meal. Aziraphale had no idea he could be this petty. It was incredibly and annoyingly adorable.

By the time their sushi platter had arrived, Aziraphale decided it was time to coax him to a different topic of conversation. There were a great many things he’d always wanted to know about Crowley, but he never had the opportunity to ask. It seemed there was no better time than present.

Crowley looked funnily at the tuna nigiri that Aziraphale had placed on his plate. “Never had one of these before.”

“Oh, what a shame! They’re lovely,” he said, popping a piece into his mouth. “Go ahead, give it a shot.”

Crowley held one in between his chopsticks, unsure of what to do.

“Turn it fish-side down into the soy sauce, dear,” Aziraphale said helpfully. “Then quickly pop it in your mouth.”

Crowley followed his instructions, chewing thoughtfully. His mouth stretched out into a satisfied grin. “S’not bad.”

Aziraphale decided to take that as a victory. “I mean, it’s nowhere near as good as the ones I had back in Soho, but one can’t be too picky, given the circumstances.”

“You lived in Soho?”

Aziraphale nodded, only now realizing that he’d never told Crowley that before. “Yes. For a very long time. I ran a bookshop.”

“When did you move to Tadfield?”

Aziraphale tapped his chin. “Oh, I think just over five years ago?”

“Why did you never tell me you lived in London?”

“It never came up!” Aziraphale dug into the slices of salmon sashimi, adding a dollop of wasabi grinds with his bamboo chopsticks. “Besides, how else could you have explained the successful way I thwarted your strategy regarding Miss Gallagher’s stabbing?”

“’ _Thwarted’_ ,” muttered Crowley in what he assumed was supposed to be a mocking tone. “Well, yeah. That would explain it.”

“Now you know. I was not always clad in boiler suits, and taking pictures of other people’s bloody bathrooms. I was a bookshop owner and an antiquarian in Soho. For decades. My flat was right above it.”

Crowley looked at him, stunned. “I had a flat up in Mayfair. For um, quite a long time as well.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale blinked a few times. All that time. All that time, he’d been closer to Crowley than he realized. For goodness’ sake, Crowley probably could have _walked_ over to his place. He let out a nervous laugh. “Such a pity we never crossed paths.”

“Never been one for books, sorry.”

“It’s quite alright.” This was the most he’d ever said about his past life in a long time. It was something that he usually didn’t like to recall.

“I just. I find it hard to believe that we were in the same general area all this time!”

“Well, it _was_ quite crowded.”

“Still. What if I had met you? Before…” Crowley trailed off, waving a hand in the air.

The thought put a sense of longing in Aziraphale. In a flash, he was back in his glorious bookshop, the scent of rotting paperbacks and dust clinging to the air. All his prized collections, the little knick-knacks he’d taken years to gather, the row of bejeweled snuffboxes that hung over his desk, glinting under the circular glass roof in the center of the room.

The door opened, and in came Crowley, greeting him with a smile and a wave. He looked refreshed, he lived only a short walk away after all. Perhaps he’d brought a bottle of wine, which Aziraphale took gratefully as he escorted him into the backroom, where Crowley would while away the night hours either drunk or asleep on his old leather sofa.

“What happened?” asked Crowley from reality, snapping him out of his reverie. “Why did you move? Why the big change?”

Tears pricked his eyes which he fought to hold back. “It burned down,” he said, his voice sounding broken even to him. Crowley’s entire demeanour changed. “A-an accident. I wasn’t home, luckily. Or, unluckily. I don’t know…” He sighed, the clenching in his chest intensifying. But he trusted Crowley, and he needed to let this out. “I was able to salvage only a few items. They’re all in my cottage right now, here in Tadfield, but I can’t bear the very sight of them. So I spend most of my time at the station.”

“Aziraphale.” The sound of his name was a song on Crowley’s lips. “I am so sorry. I can’t imagine what you must’ve gone through, to lose all those things that were so precious to you.”

“It’s been a while now, I really should get over it.” He gave a smile and tried to return to his food. “Can’t spend the short remaining time of my life moping about it.”

“You loved it though, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did,” he said in between chewing on pieces of sashimi. “It had always been my dream, to be surrounded by books and history.”

“Yeah, I can tell.” Crowley regarded him with a fond expression, and he had no idea why. None of his past boyfriends had ever took kindly to his weird quirks. They mostly just glossed over his interests. He thought it was because he hadn’t dated the academic types, but here was Crowley whose own world and interests could not be more different from his own, sitting there eating food that only Aziraphale liked, sympathizing with the pain of losing books he claimed not to have had any interest in.

Aziraphale loved him so _very_ much.

“You could, still…” said Crowley, appearing to have completely forgotten about his food now. “I mean, you said you still have a few. I don’t know of any old bookshops here in Tadfield.”

Aziraphale dropped his chopsticks. He’d never actually considered it.

“I appreciate the thought,” he replied, “but it’s a bit too far-fetched really. I lost so many rare titles. And I’ve not been reading much myself lately. To be honest, I’m not sure if I’ll ever rekindle the interest.”

“Why haven’t you been reading?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “Work’s been very demanding. I usually hold down a lot of shifts for Forensics, as I’m the only one without family to go home to. And the few times I do get to relax, I’ve been so restless. Also, I get really annoyed when I get in the mood to read a certain novel only to realize that the title isn’t in the stacks that I saved from the fire. Really puts me out of it.”

“But are you at least happy with your current job?”

“It could be better,” he said truthfully. The sushi platter was now finished, and they called for the bill. “But at this stage of my life, what rights have I to complain?”

“Why are you like that?” Crowley asked accusingly.

He narrowed his eyes. “Like what?”

“Saying things like that. That you’ve ‘no rights to complain’. You have a right to get the things that you want. You shouldn’t think that the things you want are always beyond your reach.”

The words cut deep into him, considering the nature of his feelings. He wasn’t sure how to respond, but luckily the bill arrived and he was saved from having to explain himself.

Crowley reached into his denims for his wallet. Aziraphale did the same.

“I’ll pay,” snapped Crowley as he set his credit card down on the table before Aziraphale could.

“N-no, absolutely not! You barely ate anything. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“It’s fine, Aziraphale. I invited you, after all. You can cover next time.”

Aziraphale could only nod. Friends went out to eat together, sure, but did friends also insist on paying for your meal?

What was happening?

Aziraphale’s lips stretched out into a comfy smile. “Well then. _Gochisousama._ ”

“I have no idea what the fuck you just said.”

“Thank you, Crowley.” His voice was too obvious, too giddy, but he had no remorse for it. His own feelings were welling up inside of him. He was so damn _happy_.

When Crowley got up from his seat, Aziraphale snatched the receipt from the table and hastily tucked it into his jacket pocket.

Crowley drove him back to his house, and thankfully, it had been less hazardous than the previous ride. They made good and light conversation on the way, and if Aziraphale had told him directions to a route just a little bit longer than the one he usually took, he felt no guilt about it.

But they did arrive, much sooner than he’d liked. His house just a few paces outside of the window, Aziraphale felt no urge to step out of the car. He looked at Crowley just as the DI also turned to face him.

“I had a lovely time,” Aziraphale said with a burst of confidence, saying the clichéd line even though they had gone on _not_ a date. Because it was true. Crowley had really made him happy and he deserved to know it. He couldn’t not say it, with Crowley looking softly at him just like that.

Crowley swooped in across their seats, capturing Aziraphale’s lips into a chaste kiss. It took him by surprise, but it was instinct that led him to tilt his head and deepen it. Their lips glided slowly, almost lovingly. He wanted to cry. It was _overwhelming_.

Aziraphale’s blood was singing, fire in his veins. Each languid press of their lips fueling him. He sighed deeply, lips curling into a soft smile against Crowley’s mouth.

Then, Crowley made the mistake of grabbing the back of his head, the movement of his lips becoming slightly more urgent. Aziraphale’s thoughts snapped into panic. He pulled back abruptly.

The combined shock and pain on Crowley’s face was one he’d never seen before.

“Aziraphale, is-is something wrong? Did I do something wrong?”

Of course, it all made sense to him now. It’s true that friends didn’t pay for each other’s meals, but he and Crowley were never exactly just _friends_ in the first place. Crowley had taken him out for some good food and conversation, and even drove Aziraphale back to his house. _Of course_ the sex ought to come right after.

He should… He should just give in. Crowley had been so good, so kind to him after all. It was the least he could do. And it’s not like he didn’t want to either. But the thing that was holding him back was too strong.

His love for Crowley.

Now that he’d become aware of the depth of his regard for him, Aziraphale didn’t know if he still had it in him to continue their little clandestine sessions. He loved Crowley so, so much. He would never sleep with or date anyone else again, for who could beat Crowley? He was wholly owned by the man sitting right in front of him, and he had not the faintest idea.

The Arrangement will eventually come to an end and it _will_ shatter him.

“Please,” Crowley choked out. “Talk to me.”

Aziraphale tried to look reassuring. “Nothing, I’m just. I’m a bit tired. Sorry. I think I want to take a rest tonight.”

“Isn’t that what you were going to do?”

“Yes, absolutely.” His hands fumbled on the door latch as it swung open and he stepped out. “Do take care, Crowley.”

He shut the door and made a beeline straight to his front door, resisting the urge to look back at Crowley.

Once he’d made it inside, it was a full ten minutes before he heard him drive away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos keep me thriving! Let me know what you thought of this chapter--it's personally my favorite out of all I've written so far.
> 
> And follow me on twitter! @angelsnuffbox I sometimes post fun excerpts from future chapters right as I'm writing them
> 
> And if you're reading this and are also a fan of Broadchurch, do check out my other AO3 project called "A Rock and a Hard(y) Place" which is a meta about the Broadchurch cliffs and how it connects with the storylines of season 1. I promise you won't regret it! 😊


	8. Boy Problems

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A HUGE thanks again to my beta, Berry / @yourpolishmate for making this chapter readable! I am ever so grateful <3

Received 10:32 AM

_In my office. Asap._

**Now, Crowley? I am working!**

_So am I. You have five minutes._

**This is ridiculous. Cannot you manage for a single day all on your own?**

_But I NEED you._

**Have you got any idea how much paperwork I am dealing with right now? I’m on thin ice with Gabriel as it is.**

_Yuck. Don’t mention that name. Total mood killer._

_Just come here._

_Please._

**Crowley…**

_Got you chocolates._

**Are you really resorting to bribery?**

_Depends. Is it working?_

**No, but I am much placated by the integrity of the local police force.**

_It’s dark. 70%_

**Be with you in half an hour, and that’s the best I can do.**

* * *

Around thirty-seven minutes later, Aziraphale entered the detectives’ workspace and was greeted by the sound of loud grumbling.

_“There is no room here for mediocrity! You hear me? I am VERY disappointed in you.”_

Aziraphale winced. It sounded a lot like Crowley’s voice, coming from his office. The other detectives sat in their own stations wearing odd looks on their faces, staring at one another. He ran his eyes over all of them, trying to discern who was missing. Who could Crowley be angry with now?

_“I made myself clear to you all a long time ago. I will not STAND for any of this wilting!”_

“’Wilting’?” muttered perplexed Aziraphale.

“He’s talking to the plants,” came Hastur’s voice from behind him. He jumped and whirled around, surprised at having been acknowledged. Hastur stood with a lax expression, his dark eyes grim—as they usually were, of course. “It’s his new _thing_.”

“The plants?” said Aziraphale. “Whatever for?”

“Hell if I know. S’long as he’s not taking it out on us anymore, he can do whatever freak thing he wants.”

“Exactly how long has he been doing this?”

Hastur shrugged and rolled his eyes. “Dunno. Started ‘bout two weeks ago, maybe.”

About two weeks ago was the first time he and Crowley had dinner together.

Aziraphale had no idea what to expect when he opened the door to Crowley’s office. It certainly wasn’t a certain lanky DI with an arm out the window, murderous look on his face, and a small plant pot turned sideways in his palm.

“Crowley!”

Crowley jumped, snatching back his arm. “A-Aziraphale!”

He switched between looking at Crowley and the potted plant in his hand, which seemed to be heaving a sigh of relief.

“W… What are you doing, dear?”

“Nothing.” He set the terrified plant down on the floor, below the open window, shooting it a sharp glare before turning to look at Aziraphale.

“What’s the poor thing done to you?” he asked.

Crowley’s arms crossed over his chest, and him huffing was a sight to behold. “It isn’t growing well.”

“And you’ve decided what it needs is a little spanking?”

The mirth was palpable in Aziraphale’s tone. This earned him another glare from the disgruntled detective.

“Everyone knows plants grow better when you talk to them.”

“Of course they do, dearest.” Aziraphale smiled. “Now, what is it that you very urgently needed me here for?”

Crowley walked—no, _sauntered_ across the room, his slim hips moving with entrancing charm. Aziraphale averted his gaze. It still hurt a bit to look at him and see how unfairly beautiful he was sometimes. Crowley stopped inches away.

“Why won’t you look at me?” asked Crowley in a low tone.

A flurry of butterflies barreled into his stomach. He forced himself to meet Crowley’s gaze, and was surprised by how near he suddenly was. There was a flash of panic as Crowley leaned in, ever so slightly. Aziraphale had already thought of three different ways that he could duck from a kiss and needed only to choose one from among them when Crowley stopped, his face inches away and tilting, to grab his hand.

Eyes widening in confusion, Aziraphale watched as he pulled away and settled back over his desk, but he had left something in Aziraphale’s palm. He clung to it tightly now, probably crushing it in a death grip.

He dumbly stared at a couple of foil-covered chocolate pieces in his hand.

“Need help,” Crowley said, his back turned to him. “With this case. You’ve a good head on your shoulders, might be useful if I run this by you.”

“Me?” asked Aziraphale, genuinely confused. “Why would you need _my_ help?”

“You were the one that called me a _subpar_ detective.”

“I said you were _only_ a subpar detective,” he quipped, blushing slightly at the memory associated with the line - how Crowley had called him gorgeous right after. It nearly derailed him from his train of thought.

“Is there even a difference?” Crowley retorted, then shook his head. He bent over his laptop and began scrolling over the screen. “Anyway. This case. It’s a lot less straightforward than what we usually handle.”

“Is this about the Dowling case?” He’d heard Newt mention it a couple of times.

“Yep,” replied Crowley with a ‘pop’ at the end.

“Oh, I don’t know…” began Aziraphale, already opening one chocolate piece and promptly popping it in his mouth, attempting graceful speech as he chewed through it. “It’s quite peculiar. An assassination attempt on the diplomat with heightened security while his family is on vacation here in Tadfield? It all seems more like espionage than a police investigation.”

Crowley grinned. “Indeed it _is_ a lot like espionage. I’m surprised you’re not into that kind of stuff.”

Aziraphale actually was, but he wasn’t about to let Crowley know about the many times he’d fantasised about Crowley in sleek James Bond suits—preferably coming to rescue him from an armed attacker. He chuckled nervously. The chocolate went soft on his tongue.

“Well how can I possibly help?”

Crowley stared at him for a few seconds before turning back to his laptop. He pointed at the screen. “We’re playing a game of _‘who dunnit’._ Thaddeus Dowling was shot at in London at a time when no one aside from his staff should’ve known where he was. He wants to know which one of them is leaking information.”

“That all seems a tad dramatic,” he remarked, but was secretly intrigued. “But how is this _your_ job? Aren’t the Dowlings just staying here in Tadfield for a couple of weeks?”

“Thaddeus is an old friend. He wants me to personally look into it.”

“Ah.”

Aziraphale really didn’t know much about Crowley’s life before Tadfield.

“And his kid, Warlock, is having his birthday party here. There’s a lot of guests staying over.” He pulled up some files on the screen. “So here. I’ve looked into some documents about his staff and all the servants in his household. There are also some photos.”

Aziraphale moved closer now to peer into the laptop screen. Crowley scrolled through several images of a pristine white house with a classical architecture style. Photos of security guards as they were positioned by the entrance, of gardeners out in the lawn, of cooks scurrying about in the kitchen. Then there was the photo of a housekeeper in the middle of some gigantic ballroom.

He gasped. “ _Oh my._ ”

At least, a ballroom was Aziraphale’s impression of it. He had no idea if the Dowlings actually used it to hold any balls _(do people still do that?)_ but all the rich people in Austen film adaptations always held their balls in rooms like that.

It was a massive open space with a row of full-length windows and a high-domed ceiling. Golden-framed paintings hung on every inch of the wall space and even the ceiling. They were of different sizes, but somehow they didn’t look disorganised. It all gave the appearance of having a very dignified owner.

“Yeah. His wife’s a bit of a collector,” Crowley drawled.

A few sculptures were plopped, evenly distanced, on one side of the room. But what really drew his attention was the one a few ways off the center, in full view due to the sunlight streaming in from the large windows. It appeared to be a statue of two winged naked figures, locked in a sort of battle. The figure on top, a shade darker, had the other in a tight grip under him, hand clenched on his wrist and pulling it back in some kind of a maneuver. Chest pressed to back, hips pressed together and legs outstretched, their muscles straining. A pair of wings held up high in a triumphant pose.

“That’s… quite an interesting statue.”

A calm moment passed while Crowley followed where his gaze was, and then he paled. “O-oh. Yeah. That’s… I was there when that was delivered.”

“Are they supposed to be angels?”

Crowley’s expression was schooled from behind his dark glasses. “Only one of them is.”

“Wha—”

“The other’s a demon.”

“A _demon?_ ”

Crowley’s voice was terribly strained. “Yeah, uhhh. The one at the.. um, top.”

Aziraphale could only look with deep internal horror.

“Aaaagh—nnggh… they’re… s’posed to be wrestling,” supplied Crowley.

“Are you certain they’re wrestling?” he asked, his face warm.

“I-ahhh… Look.” Crowley took a deep breath, his shoulders heaving up and weighing down. “Y-you can’t see the angel’s face from this angle, but I saw it, alright? A-and he doesn’t look happy. He looks _annoyed_ —yes. Very, very annoyed, that angel.”

Aziraphale failed to see _how_ that was supposed to be helping Crowley’s case.

He whipped back to look at the abandoned potted plant on the floor to hide his flaming cheeks. He’d never heard Crowley say the word ‘angel’ before outside of… well, you know. _Fraternising_. To hear him say it in any other case filled him with a near-Pavlovian instinct of either blushing hotly and stalking out of the room or going down on his knees to take Crowley’s entire cock in his mouth. He wasn’t entirely sure which.

But it wasn’t really a difficult choice now, was it? That wasn’t exactly how things worked between them anymore.

There had been more dinners. And some lunches. More late nights spent conversing over various snacks, which was how Crowley discovered Aziraphale had a fondness for nibbling on dark chocolate bars when he needed to be deep in thought late at night. (Coffee was still out of the question. Especially _now,_ when the very scent of it only reminded him of the taste of Crowley’s mouth). Their last kiss was when Crowley had driven him home after their first dinner. Crowley never tried to kiss him again.

It was all so strange. They were far from following the conventional pattern of human relationship-building. It was like a ride in Crowley’s Bentley—going fast and all at once, then coming to a sudden and perplexing stop.

And there wasn’t anything _wrong_ with it. Aziraphale didn’t mind if they hung out like normal friends. It didn’t make it any less fun. Still, sometimes memories would catch up to him—like with that incident earlier. And _God help him_ , even Crowley seemed embarrassed to recall those past adventures. He didn’t blame him. Crowley probably wanted to forget it all ever happened, and while he too wished he could move on just as easily, it was difficult for Aziraphale to forget. Forget about all the rushed and heated kisses they shared, how it felt to clench down on Crowley’s cock to incite that sinful low growl of his, or the many _many_ times he had his mouth wrapped around his member.

Yes, he would admit that it was utterly pathetic. But to be fair, those were things that weren’t easy to forget about, not when they included someone like Anthony J Crowley.

There was a niggling feeling in the back of his mind that Crowley probably didn’t find him sexually appealing anymore, which stung a little bit but he tamped it down. After all, that was nobody’s fault but his own.

Then, of course, there was still the remaining problem that he was hopelessly in love with Crowley, but really that’s only the cherry on top of the—well, whatever it was supposed to be on top of. Aziraphale wasn’t fond of cherries.

“…Sorry,” Crowley said after a lengthy moment of awkward silence passed between them. “How ‘bout I buy you lunch, hm? We can go have those floppy bread things you like.”

Aziraphale lit up, instantly forgetting his inner emotional turmoil. At least for the time being. “They are called crêpes, Crowley. And yes, I would like that.”

* * *

“Can I ask you something?”

Crowley’s chin lifted up from where he’d propped it on his palm. His gaze turned from the glass window to Aziraphale, who held a crêpe-wrapped fork in one delicate hand.

“What?” said Crowley.

Aziraphale took a bite of the food, his tongue darting out to swipe at a bit of cream that had been left behind on his lips. Crowley looked on with a rapt expression as he chewed thoughtfully.

They were at a nearby cafe, popping by for a quick lunch. Or at least, Aziraphale was. Seeing Crowley eat was still a once in a blue moon experience. A mug of coffee sat next to his relaxed hand on the table between them.

“Why did you move to Tadfield?”

“Dunno really,” he said with a sigh. “It’s all a bit… fogged up. But I think it’s cause I wanted to get away from it all.”

“What ‘all’?”

“Y’know.” Crowley paused to take a sip of his coffee, dramatically waving a hand in the air. “It’s always just been work first. I always felt like they have a collar on me. Not sure if you understand. You were a shop owner, after all.”

“I do, somewhat. Not with my London life, but with my life here. In Tadfield.”

Crowley smirked. “Gabriel really is a dick, isn’t he?”

“You aren’t exactly any better, dear,” he chided gently. “Although lately it seems you’ve turned your anger onto plants, so I must congratulate you for marginal improvement.”

Aziraphale wore a cheeky grin as he took another bite.

Crowley looked at him, exasperated. “I was disciplining them.”

“Mmhm. Anyway, I do not think it worked.”

“Course it did! Have you seen my indoor plants? Greenest in all of Tadfield—and that’s saying something.”

“Not the plants, mind you. I mean your moving to Tadfield. You said you wanted to get away from it all, but trouble seems to follow you wherever you go.”

“Yeah. But what else would you expect from an only subpar detective?”

“You are never letting that go, aren’t you?”

Crowley had on a disarming smile that made his insides melt. He really wished he wouldn’t look at him so _intently_. Even with those sunglasses on, Aziraphale was still very much affected by it.

“Can’t help it really,” he replied in a surprisingly tender tone, turning back to staring out at the window. “You say the most remarkable things.”

Ironically, Aziraphale was stunned into silence by that remark.

When Aziraphale finished his food, Crowley hurried to settle the bill. Aziraphale fought back. It was always Crowley paying for their meals and he was starting to feel a little guilty about it, but Crowley shrugged it off, and he acquiesced.

Crowley grabs for his wallet, Aziraphale retorts, Crowley insists and waves him off, Aziraphale surrenders—it was almost an unspoken rule by now.

And he’d be lying if he said it didn’t fill him with an odd, fuzzy sort of feeling.

It was nice to be taken care of for once. Even when they had been at their most frantic bouts of intercourse, Crowley had always been somewhat gentle to him. Sure, he got rough sometimes but only to the extent that he knew Aziraphale would like. It was surprisingly thoughtful.

It’s an odd thing, to have another person anticipate your needs and desires almost a split second before you did. But that was exactly how it felt to be with Crowley.

They stood up to leave. Pausing at the door, Aziraphale felt Crowley’s hand on the small of his back as they exited together. It felt… nice, of course. Warm. ‘Cause it was Crowley.

“Thank you, dear,” he told Crowley when they had gotten inside his car. He fumbled with the buckle of his seatbelt, but made sure he was shooting a genuinely grateful smile at his companion.

“No need for that.”

“I’ve always known you really are quite a nice—”

“Do _not_ start with that again, Aziraphale.” Crowley shot him a deathly sideways glare.

Aziraphale suppressed a smile. “I still wonder why you find that so offensive.”

“It’s just. You know.” His voice was little more than a whisper as he revved up the car engine.

“No, I do not,” replied Aziraphale, enunciating each syllable. “Care to enlighten me, dear?”

“Don’t want you to think I’m doing it because I’m _nice_.” His cheeks turned a light shade of pink. “I do it because it’s you. I mean, surely you know that.”

The car lurched to life and damn near took Aziraphale’s heart along with it.

“No, I…” he trailed off. He could do nothing but stare at Crowley’s profile—like an _idiot._ His internal organs were performing dangerous stunts, pounding to the beat of whatever Queen song it was that was playing on the stereo. Crowley kept his eyes on the road. “I didn’t know that. At all.”

“Ah. ‘Course,” was all he replied. It sounded almost… sad? But what would he be sad about?

Aziraphale opened his mouth to speak, but Crowley took one hand off the wheel to turn the stereo volume up on full blast, and that was where the conversation met its end.

Aziraphale spent the rest of the ride and his remaining time at work feeling miserable, even though he had no idea what it was he’d done wrong.

* * *

Crowley seemed to have forgotten about it by the next day. They went back to normal. Aziraphale never brought up the whole _‘I do it because it’s you’_ thing again, even though he did nothing but mull over it the whole day and night. He could just be reading into things. It didn’t seem worth it.

The Dowling case took up a lot of Crowley’s time, and Aziraphale had barely seen him the past three days. They still texted, though. The little pings of his phone every time it received a message were the only highlights of his days.

While he slaved over a ton of paperwork on his desk, Crowley kept sending short messages. He was undercover today at the young Dowling’s birthday party. He snickered lightly at each incoming text, careful not to attract the attention of Uriel who had her desk right in front of his.

Received 02:23 PM

_This is demeaning. Why did I think this was a good idea?_

**I thought you were fond of espionage? Serves you right.**

_You wound me. I’ve had 3 crass mothers order me to fetch them shrimp cocktails already._

**Heaven forbid they order a waiter to bring them food! The audacity.**

_Ha ha._

**I am sure you’ll find ways to be more occupied.**

_I’m supposed to be observing the other staff, but they all seem normal to me. TOO normal._

**Then just enjoy the party. The food must be nice, hm?**

_It’s so dull even the magician sucks. You could probably do a better job._

**But I don’t do magic.**

_Precisely._

_Never mind. Kids just started a food fight. This is getting exciting._

A huge smile made its way across Aziraphale’s face, completely involuntary. He’d only realized he was doing it when his cheeks began to hurt. He froze, looked around to see if anyone had noticed, and surreptitiously placed his phone back in the drawer of his desk.

The next few hours passed by uneventfully. There was so much work to get to that he couldn’t afford to be distracted. Still, by 8 PM he remained in the office, and he began to wonder what Crowley might be doing now.

As usual, he was the only one left on this floor. Lights had been dimmed, and the glare of his computer screen was his only major source of illumination. He checked his phone. Crowley had sent a few texts since his last reply.

Received 06:12 PM

_Right. Party over. Still need to do a bit of snooping around though._

_Hate having to be chummy. It’s revolting._

Received 07:48 PM

_Ugh. Glad to have that finally over with._

Sent 08:04 PM

**Will you be heading home now?**

_Have to pick up some stuff from the office first. U there?_

**I’m about to finish up.**

_Wait for me. Be there in 20 mins._

**Make that thirty, Crowley. Show the gas pedal some mercy.**

He didn’t reply. Aziraphale assumed he was already driving, and went back to tidying up the documents on his desk. There was still quite a bit of work left unfinished, but he’d get to them tomorrow. He was taxed. And if he was being honest, now that he knew Crowley was on his way it would be difficult for him to focus on working again.

Crowley came bursting into Forensics twenty-two minutes after Aziraphale’s last text. He shot up from his seat at the first sound of familiar angry muttering.

“Well that completely blew,” said Crowley, scowling as he tugged and loosened the black tie around his collar. “I’m no closer to knowing who did it than I was before this stupid birthday party. Hope your day was better.”

Aziraphale froze completely to his spot.

Crowley was wearing a waiter’s uniform.

Now, before you go on judging him, it should be noted that Crowley looked _delectable_ in said waiter’s uniform. It wasn’t like he had a thing for waiters specifically. He’d always been more drawn to whatever food they were holding, so really they never stood a chance.

But _Crowley_. Heaven on Earth—the suit was a nice clean white, its coat tails riding up high on his slim waist, which was wrapped in a sleek black cummerbund. And those _trousers_. Gotta commend him for his dedication to style, cause he was certain no other waiter in the world had ever dared to wear something so tight.

“Aziraphale? Is everything alright?”

He was quite sure everything wasn’t, as he stood there ogling the love of his life—who just so happened to be looking like the most delicious meal he’d ever seen, but who now also looked at _him_ with an expression of deep concern.

Aziraphale walked over to him, his footsteps echoing harshly through the room.

“What’s wro—” Crowley’s words got muffled into the crashing heat of Aziraphale’s mouth.

Aziraphale gripped his lapels, pulling insistently. Crowley let out a shocked whine. A moment passed in this manner before his hands came up to wrap around Aziraphale’s back, drawing him closer. Aziraphale hummed pleasantly.

The kiss quickly turned urgent, Aziraphale’s hands pawing at Crowley’s shoulders and Crowley tightening his hold on him. Tongues danced in each other’s mouths, and moans were exchanged in between loud and heavy breathing. Aziraphale’s hands clasped onto Crowley’s jaw, holding him still as he placed numerous deep pecks over his lips, which he slowly felt stretching up into a smile.

 _God,_ he missed this. It was a bad idea, he knew, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care any longer. Crowley was everything, and he’d take whatever he was willing to give him. Nothing felt more right than being in Crowley’s arms.

He was warm all over, but inside everything was calm. His brain was silent, his heart went from incessant pounding to a riled quiver. He kept pressing kisses over every inch of Crowley’s smile, and it was so good. So perfect.

Then, Crowley pulled away.

Aziraphale lamented the loss of his warmth, of lanky arms around him. Slowly, as he attempted to gather back up whatever sensations he had lost to the kiss, his chest filled to the brim with shock, and then dread.

Crowley didn’t want him.

He couldn’t breathe all of a sudden. The panic must’ve been written on his face as Crowley’s expression shifted to worry. He took both of Aziraphale’s hands in his own, pressing them together.

“Angel, I…” he whispered hoarsely. He sounded not quite broken, but very much fragile, the lines on his face pleading. “You’re mine, aren’t you? I mean I… I thought you were.”

His heart soared. It was too much. What right had that pained look to be on Crowley’s face? Crowley, who had been so many things to him all at once. He closed the distance between them again, standing up on tiptoes to press a featherlight kiss on his cheek.

“I am. I always was,” he murmured, lips ghosting over smooth skin because _fuck it all_.

Crowley buried his face in his shoulder, taking him into his arms again. He sighed deeply, his breath sending shivers down Aziraphale’s spine.

“Good,” he mumbled as he pressed his forehead over the crook of his shoulder. “That’s… a relief.”

Aziraphale was about to shift in his arms to hug him as well when Crowley drew back and kissed him again.

This kiss was even more frantic than the previous one. Crowley snarled, leaning forward as he nipped on Aziraphale’s bottom lip and sucked lightly on the plump flesh. Each time Aziraphale slightly shifted away from him, Crowley was there to immediately close the gap. It was a lot like being consumed, and it felt so unbelievably good that Aziraphale thought he was going to start crying.

Aziraphale matched his enthusiasm, his hands coming up to twine in Crowley’s mussed hair. He pressed even closer to him, their hips meeting, letting Crowley know how much he wanted this. Wanted _him_. Crowley groaned.

He attempted to speak into Aziraphale’s mouth. “We should—” _Kiss._ “—Not here—” _Kiss._ “My office.”

It was a bit of a struggle to remember how to separate and walk as two different beings again, but they managed somehow. At the door to Crowley’s office, Aziraphale stopped.

“Crowley, wait.”

Crowley, who had been in the middle of the room and tidying up some of his things, froze. He looked frightened. “Did you… It’s okay if you’ve changed your mind.”

Aziraphale shook his head. He couldn’t help it. He rushed over to the detective, arms encircling his shoulders, his hands meeting to play with the grown-out strands of red hair at his nape. Crowley still looked confused, but had placed his hands on Aziraphale’s waist as if by some default design.

“Kiss me,” he said. Because he wanted to. Because he could.

And Crowley complied, as he knew he would.

Aziraphale regarded his dazed expression and smiled. “We should go to my place.”

This time, he had no sympathies for the gas pedal as Crowley drove them over to his house.

* * *

They barely made it past the entrance when Crowley pinned him against the wall, long leg stretching out to kick the door shut. Aziraphale slapped a hand over the light switch, fumbling for a bit, and wasted no time in trailing wet kisses down Crowley’s neck, his hands clawing at Crowley’s back.

Crowley threw his head back, moaning. “Angel. _My_ angel.”

Aziraphale let out a satisfied hum as he moved along Crowley’s clavicle, tongue darting out to taste the skin over the dip between his collarbones.

As much as he enjoyed all their previous little sessions, there was a certain level of unmatched satisfaction at the complete privacy they had right now, knowing they didn’t need to hold back, worry about getting caught, or be forced into rushing. They could take all the time they needed, and Aziraphale was going to make every minute count.

His phone pinged from inside his pocket. Both of them froze.

“Ah, one moment.” Aziraphale took out his mobile, squinting at the screen. Crowley tapped his foot impatiently. “It is from Anathema.”

Crowley plucked the phone out of his grasp. He growled. “And she will _wait_.”

Aziraphale wondered how such an annoyed expression could look so adorable. He smiled and nodded. Crowley tossed the phone to the nearest sofa cushion, planting a kiss on Aziraphale’s forehead upon his return.

“Oh _Crowley._ ” He sighed. He looked into the redhead’s face and frowned. “Take off those dastardly glasses. I want to see your lovely eyes.”

Crowley grinned and snatched off the lenses from his face. He chucked it somewhere behind him and leaned back in to murmur against platinum curls.

“Always so bossy, you are.”

Crowley began to take off his coat, but Aziraphale put out a hand to stop him.

“No, I—leave it on for now.”

Crowley drew back, baffled. Aziraphale gnawed on his lip, feeling suddenly vulnerable as comprehension slowly dawned on the DI’s face.

“ _Fuck_ me _._ It’s the suit, isn’t it? I was wondering what brought it on—”

“Yes alright, it’s the damn bloody _suit!_ Are you happy?” Aziraphale’s cheeks grew warm. He pouted furiously.

Crowley took a nip at his bottom lip, his tongue flicking out to run over it. “Never been more glad to spend an entire day serving food to a bunch of snobby arseholes. _So_ worth it.”

His rumbling voice sent a thrill to Aziraphale’s chest as Crowley buried his nose in his hair, inhaling deeply.

“Angel… _angel,_ you’ve no idea how mad you drive me.”

“How?” He shivered as Crowley’s lips moved to his jaw.

“Utterly. Stupidly. I wanted you so many times. You’re such a tease.”

Aziraphale pressed a hand to his neck, drawing him close so he can tuck his face into his collar.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He knew Crowley was only joking, but his own apology was actual half-truth. “You’ve been so good to me, darling. So patient.”

Crowley placed a hand on the wall to steady himself. Aziraphale had lost count of how many times they’d been in this exact position by now. It was probably another unspoken rule. His hand crept up inside Aziraphale’s cardigan, running over his round stomach, caressing.

“You are worth the wait,” said he in a gentle tone not unlike the same one he’d used during the _‘I do it because of you’_ incident and Aziraphale melted into him, putty in his hands. “I’d never push you into doing something you didn’t want to.”

Aziraphale whined, cupping a hand to Crowley’s cheek and stroking with his thumb. “I know, dear. And thank you.”

Crowley kissed him again. “Will you let me have you tonight, angel? You need to be sure,” he said, his voice losing bravado, amber eyes vulnerable. “We can stop. This is. Well, this is more than enough. _Way_ more than what I was—”

Aziraphale cut him off with a searing kiss. Crowley responded in kind, hand coming up to clutch Aziraphale’s nape, tilting up his head so the kiss would be as deep as they dared it to be. Somehow it still wasn’t enough. Crowley licked into his mouth as their bodies pressed flush against each other, his other hand coming in between them to cup Aziraphale’s hardness.

Aziraphale moaned deeply. He pulled back and looked into Crowley’s eyes.

“You _have_ me, Crowley,” he said with all the serious intent that he could gather. He could no longer lie to him.

Crowley looked at him with great intensity, a whirl of emotions within his lust-blown pupils. In there, he saw not just the familiar strings of desire, but also a layer of protectiveness, of fascination and _awe_.

Crowley’s fingers splayed over his jaw. “You are so beautiful, Aziraphale. You take my breath away.”

“Crowley…” he gasped. “Surely you don’t mean that.” It couldn’t be true. That was supposed to be _his_ line.

Crowley’s lips curled into a snarl. It took barely a blink and his hands shifted, one clutching Aziraphale’s hair and the other wrapped around his throat.

The blond let out a whine. The painful tugging on the back of his head forced him to look up at Crowley, and the hand around his neck was firm and warm. He took in the sheer _rage_ on Crowley’s face and his mouth began to water.

“I’ll have you know,” said Crowley in a sinfully raspy voice, “that I have exceedingly high _standardsss_. I do not accept anything less than absolute fucking _perfection._ ”

Aziraphale’s hands latched onto Crowley’s waist. There was just enough pressure on his neck to shallow his breathing, sending his mind into delirious bliss.

“Do you understand, angel?”

He nodded frantically. “Y-yes,” he choked out.

“I’ll not hear anything like that from you ever again. Do you dare to disappoint me?”

“No.” His arms wound around Crowley into a full embrace. “Never.”

Crowley released his hold on him and kissed him again—first on the mouth, then his jaw, and down to his neck. “Let me take care of you. I’ll make sure you have everything you want.”

Aziraphale’s insides filled with pleasant warmth. His entire body was on fire. “I want _you_ , Crowley. I also want you to be happy.”

Understatement of the century, but it’ll have to do, given the urgency of their current circumstance.

“I am bursting with it, angel.” Crowley slid the cardigan past his shoulders and unbuttoned his shirt. “Also, might actually burst if I don’t touch you right now, so a little speeding up would be nice.”

Aziraphale let out a giggle. The air was cool on each new stretch of his skin that was bared.

Clothes were divested piece by piece as they somehow made their way to the bedroom, knocking down stacks of old books in the process. Aziraphale didn’t care how they ended up.

Aziraphale laid down on the bed, his naked body splayed open as Crowley crawled on all fours on top of him. They kissed languidly, taking their time for once, their hips grinding. He ran his hands down Crowley’s torso, thumbs flicking over his hardened nipples and eliciting a sharp gasp.

“Naughty angel,” he growled. “What am I to do with you?”

“You know what,” he replied, pouting a little, looking up at Crowley through his lashes. The way he knew would drive Crowley mad. “And I do hope you’d get on with it.”

“Hm?” Crowley pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his lip, then his jaw. “I don’t know, actually. You’re gonna need to tell me.”

Heat pooled in Aziraphale’s belly as Crowley’s breath ghosted over his sternum, tongue darting out to leave a wet mark on his skin.

“Must I say it?”

“You seemed pretty eager the last time.”

Aziraphale flushed. Crowley’s tongue dipped into his navel. He paused when his chin brushed the hairs on top of Aziraphale’s groin. He tangled his hands in Crowley’s hair.

Crowley’s head snapped up. In the next second, both his wrists had been thrown over his head, ensnared in Crowley’s long fingers. Aziraphale stared up defiantly at him.

“Rude,” he remarked with little bite.

Crowley scoffed. “ _Sssay_ it, angel.” He tightened his grip on Aziraphale’s wrists, slamming them into the headboard for good measure. “I’m not doing anything until I hear it from you.”

Aziraphale’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. His eyes clamped shut, surrendering. “Take me, darling. Please.”

Crowley let go of his wrists and set about to grasp the base of Aziraphale’s dick.

“Don’t mind if I do.” He worked a steady rhythm on his length. Aziraphale moaned. “Yeah, keep making those pretty noises for me, angel. I wanna hear you scream.”

Aziraphale nodded frantically, struggling to keep his eyes open. “All for you, darling,” he gasped. His mind was blissfully quiet as Crowley’s scent filled his nose.

Crowley fucked him slow and sweet that night. He’d lost count of all the times he’d moaned Crowley’s name, at times downright sobbing into the sheets. Each time he fell apart, Crowley was there to soothe him, hold him, murmuring sweet praises into his ear. Telling him how much of a good angel he was. How soft and tight he felt. How breathtaking he looked. He had never felt so cared for, so—so _loved._ Despite its impossibility. He could find no other word to describe it.

As he had already surrendered everything to Crowley, perhaps it was easier to pretend that he actually _was_ loved. And _damn him_ , Crowley made it all too easy.

Afterward, they settled in for sleep with Crowley holding him from behind. Crowley’s hand stroked lovingly down his side, caressing his hips and massaging his sore bum. He trailed soft kisses over Aziraphale’s neck and shoulder.

“ _My angel…_ ” he whispered every once in a while, making Aziraphale’s heart sing with happiness. “You’re mine. I can’t believe you’re mine.”

Crowley draped his arm over him, and Aziraphale clutched his hand to his chest like a lifeline.

“I’m all yours, darling,” he responded in kind, causing Crowley’s arm to tighten around him. “Never have I doubted it.”

Crowley’s other hand came up to pet his hair. “Thanks, angel.” His voice had gone low with the dredges of sleepiness. Aziraphale pressed his hand to his lips.

“Sleep, my dear.”

Crowley snuggled into him, thumb stroking the back of Aziraphale’s hand and sighing softly. His long legs tangled with Aziraphale’s. It felt very much like having a serpent cling to you in every which way, his gangly limbs stretching out. Aziraphale was entangled with him, with no knowledge of where he ended and where Crowley began, the added weight to his body akin to every comfort he’d ever known.

Eventually, Crowley’s slight movements stilled and his breathing slowed.

Aziraphale blinked against the darkness of the room, a single stray tear rolling onto his pillow. He placed several more reverent kisses on Crowley’s fingers as the latter began to snore softly into his neck.

“I love you, Crowley,” he whispered, testing the presence of the words into the air. Crowley kept on with his slumber, undisturbed. “You are everything that I desire.”

There was painful clenching in his chest, but it passed momentarily. It was overtaken by the firm hold that Crowley had on him and the sound of his relaxed breathing. Not long after, he too drifted to sleep, feeling lighter than he’d ever been before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed this part of the fic! We're nearing the end now and I'm so excited! Also letting you guys know that I have just completed this fic, so the updates will be more regular now once the future chapters have been edited. Please let me know what you think in the comments! :)
> 
> And lastly, as always, you're all invited to join in on the fun in my twitter account @angelsnuffbox
> 
> Thanks, everyone!


	9. Too Much

Aziraphale had never been much of a deep sleeper, so the moment that the first streams of sunlight filtered through the room, grey eyes shot open, returning from a pleasant dream.

His eyes fell to the small clock he kept on the nightstand, his movement limited by the heavy muscular arm that was still draped over his stomach. It was an early Saturday morning and he didn’t need to go to work. Even so, they hadn’t exactly planned on Crowley sleeping over at his house last night. Aziraphale knew that he often still went to work on the weekends, especially when in the middle of a case. The only set of clothing he had was the (now rumpled) waiter’s suit that had been the culprit for everything that took place that night—and he wasn’t about to let Crowley come into work in _that_.

Slowly, he turned over in Crowley’s hold. Crowley slept like a log, apparently. He didn’t seem to have moved from his last known position. His mouth hung ajar, breaths coming out in soft whistles. Goodness, he was lovely. He’d seen Crowley asleep before but this was entirely different somehow. When he passed out in his office his face was relaxed but devoid of expression.

Right now though, even in his sleep, he appeared lighter. Content. Aziraphale wondered if he had anything to do with that, or if it’d just been a while since Crowley got to sleep in a proper bed.

Aziraphale shook his bicep. “Crowley. It’s time to wake up.”

Crowley’s face scrunched up, taking a few seconds before opening his eyes and blinking groggily against the invasive sunlight. When he focused on Aziraphale, the corner of his mouth turned up into a soft smile.

“G’morning, my angel.”

Aziraphale answered with a dreamy smile of his own, ducking his chin. “Good morning.”

His arm tightened around Aziraphale’s body, their chests flushed together. Crowley’s naked form was so warm against his, and so alive. It was the same feeling he had when he entered his bookshop in Soho. The feeling of home.

He wasn’t sure how much was allowed outside of intercourse, but he decided to be a bit daring anyway and leaned in to kiss Crowley on the mouth.

He kept his eyes shut the entire time, even as he pulled back. Crowley ran his hand up the length of his spine, pressing him ever so slightly closer.

Aziraphale let out a breath of relief. Okay. That was allowed. Good.

He opened his eyes once again. “You should get up now,” he whispered. “I know you’re coming to the station today, but you need to go home and change first.”

Crowley mulled over this for a few moments before he spoke, his voice raspy from disuse. “Yeah, you’re right. Still a lot to do with the Dowling case.” With that, he rolled over onto his back, taking all his warmth with him.

“You can use the shower, if you’d like,” said Aziraphale, already missing him. Only one night and he’d already gotten greedy. “You’d probably want to after… you know.” He gestured vaguely over both of their naked forms.

Crowley chuckled. He sat up on his elbows. “Might just take you up on that, if you don’t mind.”

“Go ahead. I will fix us some breakfast with what little things I have in the fridge.”

He placed a chaste peck on Aziraphale’s lips before getting up off of the bed. Aziraphale took a moment to appreciate the view of toned back muscles flexing as Crowley put on the morning ritual of stretching his arms and torso before he padded his way out the door, presumably heading to the bathroom.

Aziraphale sat there for a few moments, gathering up his resolve. Recent events have rendered him weak. He stood up on staggering legs, his body still sore from last night’s activities. Despite that, it filled him with a bit of pride. The pain in his joints was the result of Crowley seeing to him and taking care of him. A whisper of _‘mine’_ uttered over and over in Crowley’s voice - the word ironed onto every stretch of his skin, echoed in his head.

His mind was afloat as he put on a loose shirt and the first pair of pyjama bottoms he could find from his drawers. He also grabbed a towel for Crowley.

He stood at the door to the bathroom and knocked. “Crowley, you’ve forgotten to bring a towel with you.”

The shower was already running. “Yeah, just leave it in!” he called out.

“O-okay.” He mentally prepared himself for what he was about to see as he twisted the doorknob.

The glass cubicle gave him full view of Crowley’s form as water cascaded over his shoulders and dripped down his back. He turned to look at the door when Aziraphale came in, and though Aziraphale’s initial instincts were to look away out of respect, the huge smile that grew on Crowley’s face had him stunned. Dark auburn strands of hair clung to his neck and forehead and he ran a hand over it to sweep them away from his face as the showerhead pattered on.

Aziraphale blinked several times before remembering what it was he came in there for. He set the towel on the rack on the wall and let out a nervous smile.

Was this what it would be like if all this was _real?_ If he and Crowley were real lovers who lived together, would he always be this afloat? His stomach was doing flip flops. Was it something that he should get used to?

For heaven’s sake, he was in baggy pyjamas. In _tartan_. Did he really stand a chance with him?

He gave a small wave before stepping back out into the sitting room, shutting the door behind him. Right. Deep breaths, then.

Would he always have this much trouble with basic bodily functions? Crowley was _murdering_ him.

Anyway. Onto business. His sitting room was a mess—well, more so than usual. Books haphazardly littered the floor instead of being stacked in their usual neat piles. He spotted his phone teetering on the edge of the couch and made to grab for it.

There were several unread messages from Anathema.

Received yesterday 8:43PM

**_Yo whattup? Newt says he needs the file on tool marks you worked on from the burglary. You took it home w u right?_ **

****

Received yesterday 9:14PM

**_He kinda needs it urgent_ **

****

Received yesterday 10:02PM

**_Please he's REALLY worried crowley will kill him if he doesn’t finish this by tomorrow_ **

Received today 7:16AM

**_Y aren’t you answering ?? Have u been abducted ???_ **

Received today 7:35AM

**_Never mind. Im coming over_ **

Aziraphale nearly dropped the phone. _Shit!_ His heart leapt to his throat and his eyes darted to the wall clock to gauge how much time he had until Anathema got there. He looked around the room and in a wildly panicked dawdle, set about to pick up the ruffled discarded garments of Crowley’s white waiter suit from several spots on the floor.

The doorbell rang, followed by a round of insistent knocking.

 _“Aziraphale! Come on, open the door!”_ In came Anathema’s muffled voice. Aziraphale felt like he wanted to crawl into a hole.

There was not enough time. He couldn’t let this happen—not when he still had no idea how Crowley would react to other people knowing about their… _special relation_. It’d all been going so well. With only a bit more time, Crowley might even learn to love him in return. He couldn’t ruin it now when it had barely just begun! He strode over to open the door and send her away before Crowley could finish his shower.

But Anathema slipped past him the moment the door cracked open. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “…Did something happen here? Something looks… off.”

“Off? I-I-I have no idea what you mean, dear!” Aziraphale struggled to keep his vocal chords in working condition. He swallowed against a lump in his throat.

“What’s that?” She pointed at Crowley’s garments which Aziraphale had hastily slung over his arm.

“Oh, this? I am just… doing some laundry.” He let out a wobbly smile. “And I really am quite busy at the moment, but I will bring the file over to you in a bit so you can leave for now while I—while I do… laundry.”

“While you do. Laundry,” she deadpanned.

“Yuup!” His voice cracked at the end.

“Okay, this is getting ridiculous,” she snapped, and Aziraphale faltered instantly. When Anathema took on that tone, absolutely _no one_ stood a chance. “You’re hiding something from me and I’ve been generous with you long enough. This ends now. Tell me what’s going on!”

“H-hiding? No! Noooo wa—what would I even have to hide?”

Anathema glowered at him. “You’re obviously trying to get me to leave because you don’t want me to know. Well guess what! I’m staying.”

Her arms folded across her front and she plopped down on the sofa with a resolute stance—and promptly jerked back up.

“Ouch!” Her hand grazed over her hip. “What the hell—”

Aziraphale saw the offending object at the exact same time that she did.

Crowley’s sunglasses, tucked crookedly into the seams of one of the cushions.

Before he could beat her to it, her hand darted out to grab it by the arm and held it in front of her face, sleek metal frames glinting against the sunlight.

The expression of pure shock and sheer rage on her face was palpable as she stared at him.

“Oh. My. _God._ ”

“I-It’s not what it looks like!”

“What the _hell_ are Crowley’s glasses d—”

“Nothing, Anathema! He, um, left them!”

“So he was here? Was that why you weren’t answering any of my texts?”

“Oh—oh _no._ He only stopped by. Quickly, might I add! Very quick. For some work thing! And he was here but a second.”

The glasses cracked a bit under her tight grip. “ _Sure._ ”

Aziraphale opened his mouth but he never got the chance to speak, because at that moment the sound of streaming shower water stopped—and it was only then that he realized that they both have been hearing it running the whole time.

Anathema looked just about ready to stab him.

He squeaked. “I can explain.”

“Oh, I dare you to.”

The bathroom door swung open and Crowley stepped out into the room, his bare chest glistening as a towel hung low around his hips. Aziraphale released a strangled whine.

_It was nice while it lasted. Farewell, my love._

“Aziraphale, hope you don’t mind I used a bit of your hair product. Looks pretty old though, should probably throw it out.” Squinting against the daylight, his eyes finally found the two people in the room and he stopped. “ _Book girl?_ Didn’t know you were here. Sorry ‘bout.. well, this.” He gestured to his undressed state.

 _When_ will the ground open up and just take him already? Aziraphale had no idea how much more of this he could take.

_But he doesn’t sound angry. Should I consider that a good sign?_

Anathema’s face had turned bright red. She held out her arm and kept her gaze to the bare white wall near Crowley’s head. “Uh… here! Suppose you’ll be needing this.”

Crowley trotted over and took the glasses from her hand, water droplets landing on the wooden floor in a light patter. “Right, thanks.”

Aziraphale watched the exchange in silent dread. What he would give to be able to read Crowley’s mind right now.

Crowley drew near to his side, taking the pile of clothes from Aziraphale’s hold. He bunched them all up over his stomach, probably wrinkling them further, and kissed Aziraphale’s temple.

His breathing hitched.

“Thanks angel,” Crowley mumbled softly before he disappeared back into the bedroom.

Anathema fixed him with a furious wide-eyed glare, and started _yelling_.

“ _What the hell!!!_ ”

“Anathema, please, your voice—”

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do! You are sleeping! With DI fucking _Crowley!_ ”

“Dear, please, I promise I will tell you everything—”

“Were you ever gonna tell me about this, huh? What was this, some one-off thing? How long has this been going on?”

“Look, okay, I will be honest with you! Just please lower your voice, I do not know how much more embarrassment I can take if he hears all of this—”

“Serves you right.”

He nodded. “Yes. I suppose I _do_ deserve it.”

“I’m gonna murder you. Newt couldn’t sleep last night, scared _shitless_ about what his boss was gonna do to him and all this time he was here _pounding_ you into the—!”

“—Now there really is no need for that kind of language—”

“—Honest to god, I will _kill_ you with my bare hands if I have to!”

He heaved a sigh. “I am so so very sorry for keeping this from you. Please, just, it is a lot to process. I promise I will explain everything.”

“You’d better! Where’s the goddamn file?”

Aziraphale pulled it out from one of the shelves behind him. She snatched it away with a huff.

“I’m taking this to Newt, but you are going to tell me _every single detail_. Got it?”

He nodded, breathing heavily. “Yes. I’ll, ah, explain everything over lunch.”

With one last deathly glare, she spun on her heel and stepped out the front door, slamming it shut behind her.

He sagged against the wall. He’d been awake for less than an hour and he was already aching to crawl back into bed. Or into a hole.

It had been a tad too much for a peaceful Saturday morning.

* * *

It took a considerable amount of effort, but by the time Monday morning rolled around, Anathema managed to completely forgive him. After having fully explained to her the nature of his and Crowley’s not-relationship, the enthusiasm she showed seemed almost embarrassing.

“It really is not a big deal,” he’d told her over lunch at her place after Crowley had left. “Hardly counts as a relationship.”

“It kinda does.”

He blushed. “I am in love with him. He takes care of me.”

It was the first time he’d said it out loud. The words made him tingle all over to his toes, the besotted fourth-grader that he was.

“So?” she replied, chewing on her salad. “Isn’t that good? I doubt you would be enjoying any of this if you _didn’t_ love him.”

Aziraphale frowned. “Now whatever do you mean by that?”

“I don’t mean to offend you ‘cause it’s actually kinda cute, but casual’s just not your style, sweetie.”

“I can do casual!” he said defensively, hands smoothing down the creases of his threadbare waistcoat. “I have done casual.”

“Really. You call this casual.” She raised an eyebrow.

“I call it what it is!”

“Look. I don’t have much to draw on considering this all just kinda sprang up on me, but what you’re doing isn’t casual. You need to talk to Crowley about how you feel about him.”

The mere mention of it had his heart stuttering already.

“I-I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because if the feeling isn’t mutual, I don’t know whether I will ever recover.”

“You can’t be sure if it isn’t mutual, Aziraphale.”

“I will eventually!” He snapped. “I-I think he can, possibly, learn to love me. I just… need to wait a while longer. Until then, I am not taking any chances.”

Anathema eyed him grimly. “I’ve never seen you this sad before.”

And that was where they dropped the conversation.

Now, back in the office, Aziraphale could feel his problems with more intensity, but he pushed them out of his mind. He was going to try to act professional ( _Says the one who’s fucked his way through at least four different rooms of this very building,_ quipped his nasty brain). He was surprised when he heard footsteps scurrying off to his desk, and looked up to see distressed Newt Pulsifer standing before him.

“Aziraphale, please. You have to help me.”

“Oh, heavens. Is something the matter?” he asked gravely.

Newt nodded his head. “It’s about the Dowling case. I was supposed to bring over background checks on the security officers. The DI was very clear he needed them by this morning, and I sort of… lost it.”

“Newt, you really ought to be more careful with these sensitive items. Where did you last see them?” Aziraphale mentally shifted around his schedule for the day so he can squeeze in a bit of time to help Newt look for the files.

Newt shook his head. “No, I know where they are, probably. But I sort of left them somewhere far, it’ll take me some time to search through everything, and really all I need is a bit of leeway.”

“Leeway for what?”

Newt shot him a shy and meaningful look, his voice dropping to an urgent whisper. “I-um. Anathema told me everything, alright? And I really hope this isn’t too much to ask from you, but once I find those files it’ll be a huge help if the boss could be uh… _softened_ , a little.”

A furrow appeared between Aziraphale’s brows. “What—” he cut himself off. _Wait a minute_. “Y-you can’t possibly be asking me to do _that!_ ” he exclaimed, blushing furiously.

“Please please _please_ , Aziraphale! I just need him to be less cranky. You can put him in a nice mood!”

“Alright, alright! Just, I _beg_ you to stop talking,” he said weakly, unsure if there had been any other moment in his life that he’d been this mortified. “I will see what I can do to… _ease_ Crowley’s temper. But, you shouldn’t count on this each time you mess up. It’s a very questionable work ethic.”

“You’re one to talk about work ethic.”

“Do you want my help or not?”

Newt turned back to pleading again. “Yes. Please. Please help me. Help all of us. You are the unsung hero of CID, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Detectives are all so dramatic.”

He’d been planning to check up on Crowley in his office that night anyway. His lips pursed as Newt walked away, presumably to try to do his own part in salvaging his career. Much of it, apparently, still rested on Aziraphale’s shoulders.

So this was to be his life now, huh.

* * *

“Any chance I could… spend the night at yours later?”

Aziraphale hummed into the kiss, the leather-clad sofa in the DI’s office warm against his back as Crowley pressed him bodily into it. His fingers curled on Crowley’s jawline as he dipped his tongue into Crowley’s mouth.

There was an arm draped possessively over his shoulders and another snaked around his waist. It was nothing more than that, as they sat fully clothed and kissed lazily, yet his skin prickled with heat, his heart thudded loudly, and his mind was already lost— _Moremoremoremore_ , it chanted with each press of Crowley’s lips.

“You can’t,” he replied once the DI had gotten enough of his mouth and decided to move down to his neck, which Aziraphale craned to grant him more access. His eyelids fluttered as Crowley’s hot tongue dragged over his the side of his neck. “You’ve a lot of work to do. You know that.”

He only meant to check up on Crowley for a bit before heading home, but he ended up getting a bit… derailed.

Aziraphale made to stand up, but the arm around his shoulders tightened. He shot Crowley an admonishing look.

“Just a few more minutes, angel?” said Crowley, grinning cheekily.

Aziraphale swatted his arm. “’ _I’ll be working all night tonight’_ was what you said.”

“Mm-hmm.” Crowley tugged on his waist. Aziraphale went willingly, positioning himself to straddle Crowley’s lap.

He leaned in to capture Crowley’s mouth in a desperate kiss and couldn’t resist grinding down on the growing erection on the DI’s lap.

Crowley groaned. He pulled back, eyes unfocused, and cupped Aziraphale’s cheek. “The things you do to me, angel.”

Aziraphale bit his lip. “Well. Likewise.”

Crowley’s brows rose up. “Really?”

He pressed his own hardness to Crowley’s stomach to emphasize his point.

“Stay with me tonight,” said Crowley in a voice that was suddenly more strained.

“Crowley, I do occasionally need to go home and sleep like a normal human being.”

Crowley’s palms slid down to the swell of his arse and squeezed, causing a sharp yelp to rise from his throat.

“Screw this case. Really. Fuck it all. It’s taking everything out of me.”

Aziraphale could see the exhaustion in the lines around his eyes. He pressed a palm to Crowley’s jaw, fingertips sweeping over cutting cheekbone. “ _Crowley,_ ” he said in a tone that sounded more like a fond sigh. He nuzzled Crowley’s nose, a spur of the moment thing. “You will solve this case. You’ve done it many times before and you’ll do it again. I’ve no doubt about it.”

A soft whimper rose from Crowley’s throat. He placed another peck on Aziraphale’s lips.

“When you say it like that, makes me feel like I can do anything.”

Aziraphale giggled. “Now however will you manage without me?” The laughter then died in his throat. _Too much_. _Too honest_.

He waited for the recoil, for the rejection that was sure to come.

Crowley’s hands came sliding up his neck, cradling his face, and suddenly they were eye to eye. Aziraphale had seen Crowley’s bare body countless times, but he had never been more naked as he was now.

“I can’t,” Crowley replied simply.

Aziraphale yanked his tie and drew him in for a rough kiss, their tongues threading automatically. It was so warm and his chest was pounding. His breath was coming out in sharp huffs and everything else about them whirled together. There was only him and Crowley and nothing else.

Crowley pulled him closer, their hips grinding with light but affectionate pressure. There was no rush. They could get to fucking the next time. For now it was enough to affirm each other how much they wanted _this_.

Crowley’s hand crept between them to squeeze his erection and Aziraphale let out a loud, involuntary moan.

He flushed and clapped a hand to his mouth.

Crowley chuckled. “D’you want the entire building to hear you, angel? I mean, _fuck_.”

Aziraphale scowled. “You didn’t have to sneak up on me like that!”

Crowley’s soft laughter shook them both. He petted Aziraphale’s hair. “You’re really _really_ gorgeous, you know that?”

Aziraphale gaped and stammered. “I-I… That, that came completely out of nowhere!” His grip tightened on Crowley’s shoulders. “But I do, also, find you extremely attractive.”

“Glad to hear it. Or this would be very awkward for the both of us.”

“My compliments are rare and this is how you choose to repay me.”

Crowley didn’t respond to that, only continued to stare at him. It was beginning to make him feel oddly exposed when Crowley finally said, “Still. You have to know it. Can’t be staring at a mirror every day and not think it.”

“Why do you talk like this?” Aziraphale’s insides were fluttering and his soul was about to leave his body from the way Crowley spoke about him. “And no, actually I don’t know it. I mean, I’ve gotten comments on good days just like any other person, but you are the only one who have told me that to such a… startling degree.”

“Really?” At this point, Aziraphale considered that Crowley was maybe pushing it a bit, but to his credit, he did _sound_ genuinely confused. He grabbed Aziraphale’s hand, pressing the palm to his own cheek, coarse stubble rubbing into the soft skin, and Aziraphale shivered in response. Crowley looked at him with such unabashed _adoration_ , to a magnitude that was way more than he knew what to do with.

“It’s just people like us. The, um, quiet ones—the ones who are more drawn to books and art and more sedentary hobbies. We tend to blend into the background,” he stated plainly and without self deprecation. “I mean, the first time you saw me you couldn’t even tell me apart from the other SOCOs.”

A guilty expression flitted across Crowley’s features. “Not entirely true…”

“We can’t all be flashy bastards like you,” he said lightly. “Some of us are just regular bastards.”

He leaned in to kiss Crowley once again, but Crowley twisted all of a sudden and threw his hands in the air. Aziraphale’s mouth landed on his ear instead.

“Of course! It’s so bloody _obviousss!_ ”

“W-what is?”

His expression turned into deep concentration and he squirmed in his seat. Aziraphale acquiesced and got up from his lap.

Within a couple of seconds, Crowley was over at his desk, rifling through papers.

“Crowley, dear, do you mind telling me what on earth is going on?”

He plucked out documents seemingly at random and began to mutter wildly.

“The Dowlings couldn’t find any proof on their household servants because it was none of them. How would they be capable?”

“Then who is it?” Aziraphale stepped a bit closer to him, worried that he might collapse from the way his sinuous body was trembling with excitement.

Crowley plucked out one last file and set it down on the desk. Aziraphale peered over to spot the photo of a blonde woman seemingly in her mid-sixties.

“It’s the art proprietor!” said Crowley, skimming over the details on her file. “It’s the perfect cover! She’s been in service for Mrs. Dowling over two decades now. She blends into the background. No one could’ve suspected—oh but she’s clever. Very clever indeed.”

“That’s brilliant! Crowley, you did it.”

Crowley’s hand was midway to grabbing his phone from his pocket when he paused to smile at Aziraphale.

“Yeah. Thank you so much, angel.”

His face looked so sincere as he said it and it made Aziraphale giddy with joy.

“I suppose you’ve a lot to get to now. I should… I’ll leave you to it.” He backed away towards the door.

Crowley dialed on his phone, and Aziraphale made to leave when Crowley called him again.

“I, uh, have a lot to do. But Friday night, can we…” he trailed off nervously.

Aziraphale had to suppress a laugh at how goddamn adorable Crowley was being.

“Yes,” he said warmly, beaming at him. “Friday night I’m all yours.”

A beautiful lopsided grin appeared on Crowley’s face as he nodded. “See you, then.” He turned back to his phone.

Aziraphale felt like he was floating on air as he turned around and opened the door—

—and found Hastur and Ligur waiting by the door frame, ears pressed against the wall.

They startled when he came out, and Aziraphale honestly could not say, even if he were held at gunpoint, which among the three of them looked the most traumatized.

“I-I… ah!” He stammered, remembering the particularly lewd moan he’d made moments earlier which no doubt reverberated through the entire damned floor.

Their eyes were wide as saucers but neither of them seemed eager to say anything.

Aziraphale whirled around and ran for his fucking life.

* * *

_“Look, I don’t see what the big deal is,”_ said Anathema’s exhausted voice from over the phone.

It was nearing midnight and Aziraphale couldn’t sleep after getting the shock of his life. He didn’t know what else to do, and was already scrolling through his phone contacts before he fully realized he was doing it.

“They heard me! Surely they… know. I’m perfectly fine with you and Newt knowing, but the other detectives? Anathema, I am horrified!”

_“So they heard you fooling around, big deal. Tons of them have done it before. You remember that incident with Da—”_

“Yes, yes, I do recall it. But this is different. And I can’t even imagine how Crowley would react! He’s their boss, so maintaining a certain image of decorum around them must be a big concern for him.”

_“If you think for a second that Crowley has ever had a shred of decorum around his subordinates then boy, you really are in love.”_

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and remembered she couldn’t see him doing it. He groaned.

_“Aren’t you overreacting a little? I don’t think Crowley would mind. At least, he didn’t seem to mind when I found out you two were fucking. If I recall correctly, he actually seemed kinda proud—”_

“Anathema!”

_“—which he damn should be. You’re a catch. He knows it and I respect him for that.”_

“Now please be more serious.”

_“I am being serious! Just try to get some rest or read a book or something. I’m sure it’s not gonna be as bad as you fear it’ll be.”_

“Oh, I do hope you’re right.”

_“Good night, you.”_

“Yes, yes. Good night.”

* * *

Aziraphale dreaded coming to work the next day. He lingered at the entrance in fear of what he might face, but that all turned out for naught as nothing seemed to be out of place, and he went about his work day like normal.

He and Crowley communicated mostly through texts as Crowley set about to wrapping up the details of the Dowling case. It’d all been innocent for the most part, as both of them were very busy. And it was perfectly fine, but Aziraphale couldn’t help missing him a little. He couldn’t wait until Friday.

By Wednesday, his fears had been mostly assuaged, though he couldn’t bear to look Hastur or Ligur in the eye and he actively avoided running into them.

He was confident that he’d gotten off the hook, thinking how ridiculous it was that he ever worried about it. He granted himself too much credit. It was _him_ after all, and no one seemed to care about what happened to him.

But when Thursday morning rolled around and he entered the main lobby of the station, that was when he knew he _hadn’t_ gotten off the hook, and he should’ve known. It couldn’t have been that easy.

He was waiting by the lift doors behind a couple of uniforms who, as usual, had failed to notice he was even there, but talked loud enough that he could clearly hear them.

“Hey, have you heard?” said one of the uniforms, a guy by the name of Clinton, if he remembered correctly. “Got word from CID. The DI’s been screwing around with someone in the office.”

The female officer (whom Aziraphale didn’t know but was only familiar with by face) next to him looked shocked. “No way. They exclusive? I know half the people in my team would weep.”

“You’ll never guess who it is though.”

“Who?”

Clinton paused for dramatic effect. “It’s _Fell_.”

“ _SOCO_ Fell?”

“Yup.”

“Oh my god.”

“Right?”

“I mean, I always thought he was kinda pretty, but shit I didn’t think he’d be the DI’s type!”

Aziraphale chose this moment to clear his throat and spare them more embarrassment.

Two panicked heads turned round to face him.

“F-Fell! Hey there!” said Clinton, plastering a forced smile on his face. “Good to see ya, buddy!”

“Yes. You too,” he replied politely, willing more bravado in his expression. If this was going to be his new normal, then he ought to face it more gracefully. He wasn’t ashamed to be associated with Crowley. And if the account he’d just heard could be trusted, he would relish the sound of several officers weeping because—damn it all— _he had a right to._

Crowley wanted _him_.

The lift doors opened. The two uniforms parted to the side as they gestured wildly for him to go in first.

Aziraphale quirked a brow, but didn’t question it. His chin held high, he walked slowly to the lift and did not take his eyes off of them until the doors slid closed once again.

He’s facing this head on. He owed Crowley at least that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I challenge you to a fight down in the Comments section!! Yeah go do it!! I dare you!!!!


	10. Feels Right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a short chapter here, but the next one will be a tad longer!

Aziraphale could feel everyone’s eyes on him.

It was only a flight of fancy that he had to bring some food over for Crowley, as he was almost entirely certain the man hadn’t eaten anything the whole day. He tended to gloss over the need for sustenance when he was deep in the throes of a case. So during his lunch break, when he went out to get himself some food he’d thought to get a small meal for Crowley as well. He hadn’t signed up for all _this_.

The chatter in CID fell to an instant lull when he entered the room. He didn’t want to pause to examine what kind of stares he was getting as he dragged his feet over to the DI’s office. It was like walking through a pool of honey, every step he took needed a bit more effort, and he could also feel everyone’s sticky gawking on his skin.

He needed to get used to this. There’s nothing he could do about it now.

When he reached the door to Crowley’s office, he knocked twice before entering. Crowley’s head snapped up from where he sat on his desk. Aziraphale, still feeling about a dozen pairs of eyes on him, left the door wide open. Having it closed would probably just lead to even _more_ talking. He’d prefer that they retained their self-control whilst he was still in the room.

Aziraphale held up the plastic packaging in his hands for Crowley to see.

“Angel?” said Crowley in a low, exhausted voice. Aziraphale flushed a bit, still not used to hearing the pet name under different circumstances. He hadn’t known there could be several ways that Crowley could say it. Right now, it had none of the seductive undertones that it usually bore—just a plainly confused greeting. “What d’you have there?”

“I brought you lunch,” he replied. He set the food down on the surface in front of Crowley and took on a stern look. “And don’t be stubborn. I know you haven’t eaten anything all day. You can barely even stand.”

Crowley didn’t try to argue. He rounded the table over to Aziraphale’s side. “Thanks. What is it then?”

“Just salad with a bit of chicken. I know how you don’t like heavy meals, but you need something in you.”

“You really are an angel.” He leaned in, his nose pressing to Aziraphale’s cheek. Aziraphale yelped and took a startled step back.

Crowley froze entirely, his eyes wide from shock and lips still puckered. Aziraphale smiled shakily. Someone passing by could’ve seen them, for crying out loud!

“Y-yes, I… Enjoy your lunch, my dear!” He patted Crowley’s arm weakly.

The DI straightened up, instantly schooling his expression. His eyes darted to the open door and he sighed.

“Right, sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“N-no, it’s… fine.”

An awkward silence stretched out between them. Guilt flashed over Aziraphale’s features as he struggled to come up with anything that could console him.

“Crowley, I…” He took a deep, calming breath, ridding himself of the jitters, and tried to remember who he was talking to. Crowley, the darling love of his life. He let the feeling wash over him. “I missed you so dearly and I couldn’t wait until tomorrow night.”

Crowley’s expression softened, his cheeks going a shade of light pink. “Missed you too, angel.”

Aziraphale nodded, smiling shyly. “I do wish you’d… hurry up with this case.”

“I’m wrapping it up as quickly as I can.”

“Well clearly you aren’t going fast enough,” Aziraphale said jokingly.

Crowley let out a bark of laughter which detracted many of the tired lines on his face. The sound sent a warm feeling to the pit of his stomach. How could he get him to laugh like that more? It was a sight to behold.

“I worry the longer I spend time with you, the bossier you get.”

Aziraphale was slightly affronted by this, but he took it in stride. “Well, you _like_ it.”

Crowley appeared struck by this response. Aziraphale allowed himself a victorious grin. It was a shot in the dark, but he was extremely glad to have been correct.

“’Course I do,” said the DI as he turned back to his lunch, unwrapping its contents. “There’s few things in the world I wouldn’t do for you.”

He said that in a way that made it seem like he hadn’t just shaken Aziraphale’s entire universe to the core.

That was another thing he hadn’t gotten used to yet. Ever since the White Suit Incident _(because that was how he shall forever refer to it now)_ , Crowley had become more honest. Like he’d been holding something back all this time and suddenly decided not to care anymore. How Aziraphale wished he had that same reckless energy.

Crowley sat at his chair, one hand holding a forkful of lettuce and another scrolling through his computer. “Anyway,” he said as he munched on some greens, “where do you wanna go tomorrow? Dinner somewhere?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “I was actually hoping we could just stay in, order some takeout, maybe?”

“Stay in? Where?”

Aziraphale frowned. “At my house, of course. I’d have thought it was obvious.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Nevertheless, you are always welcome,” he replied in a friendly tone. “And if you would like to um, stay for the night—if you wouldn’t mind, that is… I should like that very much too.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow at him. “Asking politely there? Well, colour me shocked.”

Aziraphale huffed and crossed his arms over his chest as Crowley struggled to hold down a few snickers.

“Fine. I am _ordering_ you to stay the night at my house tomorrow, and you are not to leave my bed until I have been completely satisfied!”

Crowley’s laughter died instantly, his features darkened.

“Oh angel, you _really_ shouldn’t be playing with fire.”

Aziraphale reddened instantly. They had dashed across the borders of appropriate conversation. With slight mortification, he realized that he had taken Crowley’s bait.

“Anthony J Crowley, you are completely insufferable!” With another huff, he turned around and scurried back out the door.

“See you tomorrow, then?” Crowley called out.

“You’d better!” Aziraphale yelled back. As he crossed the length of the CID workspace again, he didn’t even realize that everyone was still staring at him.

* * *

Aziraphale was back in Forensics, having an ordinary chat with Anathema, when they heard Uriel’s biting tone.

“What’re you imbeciles doing here?”

Hastur and Ligur stood by the entryway, the three of them in some kind of standoff. What on earth? Detectives almost never went down to Forensics, with the exception of Newt who was their errand man. What the heck were they doing here?

Hastur grumbled, his teeth baring as he stared her down. “We need to speak with Fell.”

Aziraphale froze all over, dumbstruck and also frightened.

Had they come to laugh at him? Embarrass him in front of the other SOCOs? They’d never had any reason to like him before, and now that they had some sort of upper hand he wouldn’t put it past them to wield it.

“If you have business with him, you can do it with me,” replied Uriel in a disgusted tone, as if detectives were creatures of another species that never learned how to shower. “No need to go bothering anyone else.”

“You’re not exactly the right person for this job,” snapped Ligur. “We don’t have time for your soap opera antics of playing boss when Gabriel’s not around, alright? It’s Fell we want. No one else.”

Aziraphale walked briskly to the three of them, plastering a calm smile on his face.

“Whatever is the matter here?” he said, and he really hoped Uriel’s suspicions wouldn’t be raised. He had no idea how much Forensics knew about him and Crowley, as they seemed to be the most detached division in the building, but he was certain that if they didn’t already know _now_ , they would eventually.

Hastur and Ligur continued to glare at Uriel until she finally gave up and left.

“You need to help us,” said Hastur.

The breath was knocked out of Aziraphale’s lungs. That certainly wasn’t what he’d been expecting. These two barely even acknowledged his existence the entire time he’d worked here and now they were asking him for help?

“About what?”

They were silent for a few seconds. Hastur jabbed his companion by the elbow, scowling. “You lost the bet. _You_ tell him.”

Ligur grimaced, his arms to his sides as he spoke. “Well, y’see… we kinda let slip some confidential info when we were down at Shadwell’s the other night.”

“As is expected of you two. Do you never learn how to shut up?”

“Just stop, alright? We already regret it,” said Hastur. “Boss will lose his shit when he finds out.”

Aziraphale scoffed. “Well this is all your fault. Besides, what do you expect _me_ to do—” he trailed off, his eyes wide as saucers.

Hastur and Ligur shot him with their best pleading looks.

Aziraphale balked. “No! Absolutely not!” He trembled with the shock and rage that he was feeling, struggling to control his voice.

“ _Please_ , Fell!” said Ligur, his hands held in front of him in a praying gesture—which oddly did not befit him at all. “You can’t imagine how much better he is after he’s had a good shag. He even complimented my new coat the other day!”

“This is ridiculous! You can’t possibly expect that for each of your blunders I’d be there to… to _shag_ it out of him!” He turned away in mortification. “This shouldn’t even be a conversation!”

He hated the way his thoughts flew off on some other distressing train of thought. Was this how he was perceived now in his workplace? As Crowley’s _plaything_? One who was only worth noting because he could butter up the boss at convenient moments?

It made him feel sick.

He walked away to return to Anathema’s station, but the two followed him. Anathema silently, watching them with rapt attention.

Hastur spoke again. “Fell. Please, just this once. We’re saying please!”

Aziraphale paused to look at a very amused Anathema. She shrugged. “They _are_ making history here,” she said.

Aziraphale turned back to look at them. “I do not owe you anything! Get out of here!” With a dramatic flick of his wrist, he strode off to lock himself in the loo until they left.

* * *

Friday morning opened up to a heavy downpour. Aziraphale stepped off the bus and hastily opened his umbrella. The drops were heavy as they pattered on the ground and deafened his ears. They didn’t get rain in Tadfield like this very often, but when they did it usually passed quickly.

A crackle of thunder shot from the sky as he carefully sidestepped some puddles to make it safely to the station entrance. The hems of his slacks were starting to get wet with each step, and it was infuriating that the faster he walked the greater the amount of water that splashed onto them. This was not turning out to be a good morning.

He was in the middle of the car park when he spotted a familiar looking black Bentley to the side as its engine shut into silence. He paused.

It could’ve only been a few seconds, but it felt like he waited ages for the car door to open. Crowley stepped out of the vehicle, his dark leather boots splashing onto the pavement. Sunglasses in place, he stood up straight and patted down his coat, walking in long decisive strides in the direction of the building.

Aziraphale ran to catch up with him, his trousers soaking his calves.

“Crowley!” he called out, and the redhead stopped in his tracks. “For heaven’s sake, don’t you ever bring an umbrella with you?”

Aziraphale arrived by his side, reaching the umbrella up over both of their heads. It was a tad awkward given Crowley’s height advantage over him, and now his shoulder was also getting soaked. Crowley’s hair flopped down over his face with the weight of the downpour as he stared at Aziraphale, shock in his features.

“Umbrellas aren’t really my style,” he replied, swinging up a hand to set aside the hair over his eyes. Now that Aziraphale had gotten close, he noticed an angry purple bruise that had blossomed over Crowley’s cheekbone.

Aziraphale examined it with intense scrutiny. Crowley’s expression shifted to panic as he realized what he’d unintentionally just revealed.

“Should I ask you whether I should’ve seen the other guy?” Aziraphale said calmly, though his insides were anything but. He’d never known Crowley to have been physically violent with anyone, and a surge of protectiveness welled up inside him. Whoever inflicted this on Crowley was going to _pay_.

A light blush dusted over Crowley’s cheeks, blending nicely with his light freckles as his hand came up to cover his nape. “I, ah. Hotel took out all the rugs for cleaning today and I… slipped in the bathroom.”

“I’m sorry, you _what?_ ”

“Slipped and banged my head on the sink, alright?” Crowley grumbled, averting his gaze. It was the most uncool thing he’d ever seen Crowley do, but his heart still stirred at the sight. The flash of anger he’d had mellowed down to light amusement, slipping easily into a kind of fondness that could only be justified by someone so madly in love as he was. He liked it, Crowley admitting this to him. It made him feel like he had a piece of Crowley _with_ him.

Aziraphale giggled, not even bothering to repress it. “Good to know not even you can saunter over wet floors, dearest.”

Crowley softened visibly at the endearment, but he was resolute. He gazed up at the umbrella, watching little droplets drip down its edges with sudden intense fascination. He looked like a painting, with a storm brewing in the background, and Crowley in all his sleek, handsome splendour at the forefront. Aziraphale’s entire being ached for him.

They already stood close in order to fit under the umbrella, nearly chest to chest. Aziraphale clung a weak grip over Crowley’s shirt and pulled himself up on his toes to land a soft kiss over the weathered skin of his cheekbone. He heard Crowley draw in a sharp breath.

“Do be more careful next time, yes?”

Water soaked into the fabric over his back as his arm grew weary and the umbrella in his grasp shifted to cover more of Crowley than him. He didn’t care.

“We’re outside, y’know,” said Crowley, his hands shoving deep into his pockets. “Thought you didn’t want people to see.”

There was a tinge of sadness to his tone that spurred Aziraphale to console immediately. The hand he had on Crowley’s chest stretched into a light caress.

“That is, I thought _you_ would mind,” he replied, somewhat embarrassed now. “They’re talking about us, you know. They know about our, uh, _activities_. And I… wasn’t sure if you were comfortable with that. I didn’t want to assume.”

“Why would you think I’d mind?” His arm came round to Aziraphale waist, the warmth of his touch a contrast to the coldness of his now-drenched jacket. “Did I give you that impression?”

Aziraphale didn’t know how to answer that. He gave a quick peck to Crowley’s lips, feeling all the more sublime. He could only imagine how sickeningly sweet the smile on his face was as he gazed up at the redhead. “Good morning.”

Crowley grinned. “Good morning indeed, angel.”

They walked side by side. Slipping past the doors, they both took a moment to shake the rain off their clothes. Aziraphale was almost entirely soaked, but he felt no trace of the irritation he previously had. He shook off his umbrella before folding it up and carefully perching it on the rack by the entrance.

It took him quite a while (blasted things, folding umbrellas were—he could never get the hang of them). He could feel Crowley staring at him.

“Are you quite done?” he said in a teasing tone.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Yes, quite.”

“Good.” Crowley took his hand, long fingers wrapping securely around his palm. Aziraphale jumped, running a cursory gaze about the room to see that several officers had turned to look at them. He couldn’t help the flaming in his cheeks and he chose to look only at Crowley instead.

He allowed Crowley to lead him across the lobby and over by the lifts. Aziraphale tried not to think about how silent the room had gotten and shifted closer to Crowley, pressed from their shoulders down to their joint hands. The action calmed down the anxious reeling of his thoughts considerably.

They stood waiting by the lifts as a couple more people lined up behind them. Crowley turned and pressed a kiss to his hair. “You sure you don’t wanna go somewhere tonight? No new quirky restaurants you haven’t tried yet?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “No, dear. Just want to spend time with you.”

“As you wish.”

The lift doors opened and they all stepped inside.

Aziraphale was about to burst from the sensations he was feeling. The lift was hot and cramped even though it was barely at half-capacity. He squeezed Crowley’s hand.

“For the record,” he whispered, as every single hint of sound seemed greatly amplified in the tight space, “this is exactly why you should start looking for a house.”

“What is?” said Crowley, voice thick with confusion.

“Sinks.”

* * *

The atmosphere between them crackled with heat as Crowley drove them over to Aziraphale’s house. It had only been a few days since they spent the night together, but Aziraphale already missed his warmth, his laugh, and the comfort that came from just being with him, knowing that they could bide their time.

And of course, if there were to be some more… _vicarious_ activities for them to partake in tonight (which, if he was being honest, he was confident there would be), then he certainly would not be opposed to it.

They sat on the floor of Aziraphale’s sitting room. Aziraphale had his legs tucked beneath him as he dug into his Chinese takeaway while Crowley sat across the coffee table, his back leaning on an armchair and his legs sprawled out before him. He stabbed one chopstick into a dumpling and brought it quickly to his mouth.

Aziraphale frowned. “Now you definitely should not do that when we’re eating out. It’s terribly disrespectful.”

“But I’m _tiiiired_ ,” he drawled, his head craning back against the padded cushion of the armchair, exposing the long column of his neck. Aziraphale allowed himself to appreciate the view. “My hands aren’t cooperative enough to use these.” He held up the chopsticks, attempting to make a scissoring motion with them and failing terribly.

“The reason why you’re always so exhausted is because you’re not eating enough. Food is energy, you know.” He took his own chopsticks and picked up another dumpling piece. “Come here then.”

Crowley stared at the food for a few seconds, before bringing his chopsticks up to Aziraphale’s.

“Not that, Crowley!” Aziraphale retracted his arm, leaving a befuddled DI. “Really, you are a menace to the basic chopstick etiquette. I meant come _here_.”

“Ohh.” Crowley steadied himself with a palm to the floor and leaned closer to Aziraphale’s side. Aziraphale’s breathing hitched at the sudden striking look in his amber eyes, which bore into his own as Crowley wrapped a hand around his wrist, holding it steady while his mouth closed over the food that Aziraphale held up.

Aziraphale swallowed, praying he didn’t look at all affected by the display. His trousers had all of a sudden gone a bit tight.

Crowley, of course, knew him better than that by now. A smug close-lipped grin was plastered on his face as he chewed. “What’s inside this one?” he asked.

“It’s shrimp,” Aziraphale replied quietly, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head as Crowley’s tongue darted out to swipe over his thin lips. “The same as the one you previously had.”

“Nah, they can’t be the same. That second one tasted way better.” He smirked at Aziraphale.

“Y-you must be imagining things.” Aziraphale forced himself to return to his own food, but his mind had become distracted. Though in his defence, it was hard not to get distracted any time Crowley was around looking his usual stunning self.

And once that same stunning Crowley deliberately put on provocative displays like _that_ , every one was a sure goner.

God, he really was too far gone now, wasn’t he? He’d told himself he would tread carefully to protect his feelings. His physical form was sitting comfortably on the carpet, tucking into some barely decent food and sharing light banter, but his _everything else_ was walking on glass, looking towards a light at the end of a tunnel which seemed to taper off the farther in he got.

These thoughts flared up like shadows in his mind and he suppressed them immediately. He would have time to dwell on those later. For now, he was with Crowley, and he should allow himself to enjoy every second he got to be with him.

“Hey,” said Crowley, snapping him out of his trance. He set his chopsticks down on the table and propped himself up from his sprawled position. “I forgot I have something for you. I’ll just pop back to the Bentley real quick.”

“What? Crowley, that is completely unnecessary. You don’t have to get me anything!”

“I know, angel, but I want to.” Crowley placed a kiss over the furrow between his brows and smiled. “Be right back.”

His dinner suddenly became uninteresting as he waited for Crowley to return. Luckily, he didn’t have to wait long as Crowley came back a few minutes later with a plain brown paper bag in his hand.

Crowley sat back down on the floor, much closer to him this time, their thighs touching. “Sorry, didn’t really have time to wrap it up, but I figured you wouldn’t mind.”

Aziraphale took the bag with trembling hands. He gazed at Crowley fearfully.

“I didn’t get you anything.”

“So? Does it matter?” he said flippantly.

“Of course it does. I should be paying for our dinners from now on.”

“It’s fine, Aziraphale. Just open the damn thing. I don’t even know if you’ll like it, to be honest.”

That got Aziraphale curious. He pried the bag open and took out a light plastic tablet with a grey screen. He blinked at it several times, hands running over the back.

“Crowley… what?”

“It’s an ebook reader,” Crowley supplied, looking a tad nervous. “It stores thousands of books.”

“Oh, that’s—”

Crowley cut him off with an eager explanation, like his nerves had been eating at him all night and in retrospect, Aziraphale should’ve noticed it. The _something_ that has been going on. The crackle in the air he couldn’t quite point out.

“I know it’s not gonna make up for everything you lost when… when your bookshop burned. I know nothing will make up for something like that, but angel, this is what makes you happy. You shouldn’t give up on it. That’s what people are supposed to do when we fall down. We try to get back up.”

Aziraphale could do nothing but _stare_ , his mouth hung open, as he clutched the tablet to his chest. It felt like something he needed to do to try to relieve the squeezing sensations it was experiencing. Seeing that he had nothing to say, Crowley continued with his speech.

“Before you bin the bloody thing, just consider for a bit, alright? Just start with this one. You said it annoyed you when you wanted to read a book but it’s not here—” he paused to gesture at the stacks of books surrounding them, “—well, with that you can get the book at a moment’s notice. Find joy in reading again. We’ll work on the rest later, I—Aziraphale?”

A tear rolled down Aziraphale’s cheek, gasping as he found the act of breathing too taxing. He let out a wobbly yet grateful smile.

Crowley relaxed at this, smiling back at him. “Now don’t go all soppy on me. And absolutely do not go call me _nice_ either. You need to hook it up to a computer. It has a bloody charging cord. You’re gonna hate i—”

“I am deeply and madly in love with you.”

His heart had been screaming it, so really it couldn’t be helped.

Crowley immediately halted his rambling, his mouth gaping for a few, terribly long seconds.

“Come again?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this last scene planned out since before I started writing this whole fic, so I'm really anxious to know what you think about it! I'd love to hear from you :)
> 
> As always, you're welcome to follow me on twitter: @angelsnuffbox
> 
> Thanks so much for sticking by!


	11. Window

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the last chapter! I'd like to thank everyone who took a chance on this fic. You all have made me so incredibly happy and it's such a huge honor to write for this fandom. I hope you like this ending!

“I am deeply and madly in love with you.”

His heart had been screaming it, so it really couldn’t be helped.

Crowley stopped his rambling, his mouth gaping for a few, terribly long seconds. “Come again?”

Who was he kidding? He couldn’t have prolonged this any further. Crowley, with his devilish charm, his wicked smile, his incessant _doting_ on Aziraphale, was always bound to wear him down someday. The ride in Crowley’s Bentley could never have lasted forever. He’d enjoyed it long enough. Now was the time to drive it straight into a wall of flames.

He clutched the gift in his hands until his knuckles turned white. Crowley’s brows were drawn in confusion. Slightly relieved that he at least didn’t look repulsed, Aziraphale took in a deep steadying breath. “All this time I’ve been fooling myself, thinking I’d be fine.”

“Fine with what?” Crowley implored, a hint of rage lining his voice. “Tell me. What did you think was gonna happen here?”

“That I would hold myself together. When this ends. When you don’t want me anymore.”

“The fuck?”

Aziraphale winced, but he trudged on. “This is, of course, all a lie. I am perfectly aware that you mean the world to me, and should I lose you I would not be able to bear it for… a while.”

He waited in torture for Crowley to respond, needing to have this done with as quickly as possible. There seemed only two possibilities—either Crowley confesses a mutual feeling or he walks out of that door post-haste and never speak to Aziraphale again. He held his breath.

Crowley drew his head back, slapping a hand to cover his face, and groaned.

“Fuck. Was that what you thought all this is? _Christ_ , I’m a prick!”

“Crowley—”

“No.” Crowley held out a finger to his lips. He looked like a Victorian maiden fainting from a little heat. “ _You_ don’t get to talk right now. I screwed up, okay?”

“What do you mean?” he inquired, genuinely cross now. “Explain it to me right now, Anthony Crowley!”

“I wasn’t… I wasn’t toying with you, Aziraphale. I wasn’t being a dick—at least not on purpose. I was _pursuing_ you.”

Aziraphale took a few moments to process this. When his senses came back, he landed a hard slap onto Crowley’s arm.

Crowley’s jaw fell open in shock.

“You couldn’t have _told_ me?” he yelled, his features enraged, but his hand subconsciously already rubbing the spot he had struck. “Have you any idea how long I spent mulling over—”

“Yes yes, I know that now! I’m a dick, alright? I should’ve told you from the start but I—” Crowley sighed in frustration, looking helplessly at him. “I’m shit with talking about these things, okay? I can’t, I’m just no good. Besides, I just always assumed you knew!”

“How could I have known?”

Crowley’s brows raised up towards his hairline. “Really, angel? I haven’t exactly tried to keep it a secret!”

Aziraphale blushed.

“That means nothing. You haven’t told me anything to assure me that you wanted to be exclusive.”

Crowley’s hands flew straight into the air. “I thought we _were_ exclusive! At least since the night after the birthday party!”

His thoughts ground to a halt. “I—what?”

_‘You’re mine, aren’t you? I mean I… I thought you were.’_

“Wait,” said Aziraphale, finally connecting the dots. “ _That’s_ what you meant back then?”

Crowley appeared a bit embarrassed as he nodded. “It started out as casual, but y’know, it never was just casual for me. And when I heard you’d gone on that date—”

“You knew about that?”

Crowley hung his head in shame. “Sorry. Pulsifer told me. I just… it made me angry, okay? And it shouldn’t have. You weren’t exactly mine, but I’d already staked my claim on you. I thought, if you could just give me some more time I can convince you to turn it into something more, and then that date happened and it just—it gutted me, angel. If dating was what you wanted, why wouldn’t you do it with me?”

Aziraphale was momentarily stunned by the sincerity in his demeanour. This was Crowley laying himself bare. He leaned in, carefully removing the sunglasses from his face, looking deep into beautiful pools of golden sunlight.

“I wanted to, so badly,” he admitted, feeling all the better for getting it off his chest. “It was a lovely date, but I just wished for it to be with you the whole time.”

The corner of Crowley’s lips quirked up into a hopeful grin. “Yeah?”

Aziraphale nodded. “And then after that, you started taking me out for dinners and it was all so very lovely. I relished in them, sinking deep into some fantasy that those were real dates.”

“They _were_ real dates.” Crowley snarled, taking his hand and threading their fingers together. “Aziraphale, do you have any idea how crazy I am about you? Did you think I’d do all this just for a good fuck, huh? That I’m that kind of person?”

Aziraphale’s face flared up in shame. “No, of course not. I’m so very sorry.” He pulled their joint hands over to his lap so he could use his free hand to stroke Crowley’s, wanting desperately to soothe and console. He kept his grip tight just in case Crowley let go, or wanted to leave. He won’t be able to handle it. “I always did wonder why you seemed to have a, er, _tendresse_ for me. I had hoped with some time you could’ve maybe learned to love me in return.”

“And here I thought you were the clever one.”

“You haven’t exactly made it easy for me! You go way too fast. We never sit down to talk about these things!”

“We are now. It’s all in the open.” Crowley tried to lean in for a kiss, but was stopped when Aziraphale shot him a vicious glare. Crowley huffed out a small laugh, amused. “Right, right. _Talking_.”

“We need to stay focused, Crowley.”

“So just to get this straight, we both have been wanting the same thing this whole time but were too stupid to notice or even ask each other about it.”

“Well, I… I’m not used to being _pursued_ , as you call it. So a little more clarity would’ve been nice.”

Crowley leaned in again, cradling Aziraphale’s jaw in his hand. “How’s this for clarity then?”

Their noses brushed, and all there was to be felt was a tidal wave of emotions as Crowley gazed at him with such fondness—such _love_ , love that he could plainly see now that it has been affirmed. Love that needed not be said, as it has been proven time and time again.

“Silly angel,” Crowley whispered, brushing his lips to the corner of his mouth. “You’re not gonna lose me,” he said tenderly, kissing him deeply on the lips. Aziraphale responded with his own enthusiasm, clutching Crowley’s shoulders, meshing their bodies together. Crowley pulled back and placed several light kisses over his nose and to his cheeks, a whisper of promises scattered in between each reverent touch of his lips. “Never going to not want you. _Never_ getting rid of me.”

Aziraphale relaxed into him, relief coursing through his veins. He hadn’t known it was possible to be this happy.

“Crowley…” he sighed, arching his back in response to a sudden urge to get closer to him. “My dear, look at me.”

Crowley obeyed, pausing to gaze deeply into his eyes, their lips brushing just so. His face was stripped raw with unabashed desire.

“What do you want, my angel?” he said huskily. “Tell me and you will have it.”

“I love you.”

The three words oozed with such happiness that it almost sounded disgusting to his own ears.

Despite that, a huge and endearingly bashful smile broke out on Crowley’s face.

“Say it again.”

Aziraphale nearly rolled his eyes. He can already tell this was going to be a new thing for them.

He gave Crowley another lingering kiss. “I love you, Crowley. So much.”

“And what would you like me to do about it?” Crowley raised a challenging brow.

Aziraphale pouted. He knew this game all too well. “Surely you must know.”

“Nope. No idea. You love me, so what now?”

“Crowley…” he said in a pleading tone, laying sweet kisses over his jaw and down the column of his neck. “My love, please. You know what to do.”

Crowley’s breathing began to stutter, hot against his ear. Aziraphale continued to pepper kisses over his skin, tongue darting out for a taste of his Adam’s apple, grinning victoriously when Crowley drew his head back in surrender.

“Dunno… what… you want me t’do, angel…” His words slurred into each other as Aziraphale took playful nips over his jawline.

His hands smoothed over Aziraphale’s shirt, playing with one of the buttons there.

“ _Please_ , my love,” he repeated, lacing his tone with as much begging as he could muster. He went back up to place numerous kisses over Crowley’s mouth, biting and sucking on his bottom lip, slipping his tongue in with little effort. There was no resistance. Crowley only sat there with his eyes half-shut, unresponsive. Aziraphale pulled back with a wet noise that seemed to ring throughout the room. “I want you so badly. Want to feel you. Taste you.”

“You’re looking very pretty right now and I just might give in, but you need to tell me what it is you want exactly.”

He encircled his arms over Crowley’s shoulders. Crowley drew in a sharp breath when Aziraphale looked up at him through his lashes.

“I want you to make love to me. Please.” His hand splayed out over Crowley’s spine, trailing down and back up again. He leaned close to suck on Crowley’s earlobe, drawing out a loud moan from the redhead. “Will you do that for me, love? You said you’d do anything for me.”

He felt Crowley nodding silently over his shoulder and his heart leapt triumphantly in his chest.

“And I want it to be honest,” he continued in a commanding tone. “There should be no misunderstandings between us now. Let me know how much you want me.”

“Very much, in case that isn’t already obvious.”

“Then show me.”

All air escaped his lungs as Aziraphale was thrown back down to lie flat on the floor, his hands pinned above his head. He barely had time to register all this until he saw Crowley on all fours, towering over him.

Crowley’s grin was dangerous—devilish in nature. He pressed Aziraphale’s hips between his knees and growled.

Aziraphale’s cock stirred back to life. He squirmed under Crowley’s grasp, testing the restraint. This only caused the redhead to tighten his grip. He was actually pinned in place and couldn’t get out. The pit of his stomach curled in pleasure. His hips bucked up uselessly into thin air in an effort to get some friction.

“Oh, angel. I did warn you against playing with fire.” Crowley chuckled, baring his sharp teeth before leaning down to Aziraphale’s neck and biting _hard._ Aziraphale released a sharp gasping yelp in pain, followed by a tide of pleasure coursing through his veins as Crowley dropped his lower half to grind their cocks together.

“Yes!” Aziraphale choked out, baring his neck even more for Crowley, wholly blind to anything that didn’t involve him.

“Mine!” Crowley growled into his skin, licking over the mark that he’d surely marred over Aziraphale’s neck. “I’ve told you a million times but it seems you still don’t get it. When I’m done with you, you’re not gonna be able to think of anything _elsssse_.”

The situation was anything but gentle, but Aziraphale couldn’t help it. He was elated, a torrent of pent up frustrations rushing past him, giving way to a passionate thrill that had him shuddering with delight. He gazed up tenderly at his lover, positively beaming.

Crowley paused, his expression turning soft all at once as he searched Aziraphale’s face. “What?”

“And you are mine,” said Aziraphale, wanting to cup his cheek if it weren’t for the fact that his hands were still restrained in Crowley’s grasp. His cheeks stung from how big his smile was. “And I love you,” he added, just because he could.

“ _Ngk_ ,” said Crowley eloquently, pink dusting his cheeks. “Yeah, of course I am. Always have been.”

Aziraphale would never get enough of how quickly he oscillated between possessive and domineering to tender and sheepish. They were such different modes of Crowley, yet it never felt strange. It made complete sense to have those two sides in him. In Crowley, whose tender touches could pour such care and adoration just as much as they burnt like the surface of the sun itself.

And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t find it such a huge turn on.

Crowley released his hands, lowering himself on his elbows to drop a hot kiss onto Aziraphale’s mouth.

This one was slower, much less frantic—but no less powerful. Their lips glided languidly, Aziraphale craning upward to try to deepen it, but Crowley kept it under control. He pressed firmly onto his mouth, torturing him with the want of taking it further. A kiss laced with promises of more to come.

With a high-pitched whine, Aziraphale slid his hands under Crowley’s shirt, palms running over his bare chest, eliciting a light shiver. Content that Crowley wasn’t stopping him, he pulled the shirt up and over his head.

Aziraphale gripped fiery locks of hair and placed open-mouthed kisses on the crook of Crowley’s neck, the desire to taste every inch of him was all-consuming. His hands trailed down to unbuckle Crowley’s snake-head belt when all of a sudden Crowley drew back, slapping Aziraphale’s hands away.

“You think you can get away with shucking my clothes while you have all of yours on?” He roughly yanked Aziraphale’s collar. “Take this off.”

Aziraphale didn’t bother to protest. It was getting too hot for clothes anyway.

He unbuttoned his shirt one by one with decisive fingers, keeping his eyes on Crowley the entire time. Crowley drilled holes over each expanse of skin that was bared. Aziraphale could already feel the flush spreading to his chest under the scrutiny. Once all the buttons had been undone, Crowley pushed it past his shoulders and down his arms.

Aziraphale arched his back to help him, and Crowley dipped his head down to lick over his sternum. Aziraphale moaned deeply, his eyes fluttering. The graze of cloth over his arms was restricting, and he was eager to be rid of his shirt so that he could wrap his arms around Crowley again.

But the movement stopped just at his wrists, now pinned to the sides of his hips. Crowley let go.

“Crowley!” He scowled, struggling to get his arms free of the fabric, but Crowley kept his hips in place with his knees and struggling against the bind only strained his forearms. “What do you think you’re doing? I want to touch you. Unhand me at once!”

“Shhh, my angel. Just be good to me, alright?”

“Crowley… please.”

“You’re so pretty when you beg, d’you know that? You drive me mad. I love the sight of you so debauched.”

He charged back down and placed a hard kiss to Aziraphale’s mouth, teeth hovering over the flesh of his lip. Aziraphale let out a keening whine.

Of course Aziraphale knew that he was pretty when he begged. That’s precisely why he kept doing it for Crowley.

Crowley stood back up on his knees and undid his own belt. He gave Aziraphale the full show, shimmying out of his trousers and leaning back down over him in only his tight black underwear. Aziraphale could do nothing but watch him, his mouth watering at the sight of Crowley’s obvious bulge.

“My love, please,” he whined again, biting his lip. “Your cock. I need your cock, Crowley! I need it n—”

Crowley cut him off with a searing kiss, moaning into his mouth. “Just be good, angel. You need to be more patient.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips. “I don’t know how much longer I can wait.” The desperation in his tone won out his every thought, and in just a few moments he felt he might start crying.

“Shhh,” Crowley soothed, running a hand over his forehead to carefully brush back wisps of sweat-damp hair. “Relax. I’ll take care of you, my angel.”

Aziraphale searched his face and heaved a surrendering sigh. He trusted Crowley completely.

Crowley licked a stripe down his chest, taking one nipple in between his thumb and forefinger and twisting lightly. Aziraphale all but _screamed_.

He stopped just above Aziraphale’s waistband, and without further ado he set about to unbutton his slacks, sliding them down his hips. For a moment, Aziraphale feared that he was going to leave it pooled around his ankles to restrain his legs as well, but Crowley tugged them all the way past his feet and threw it somewhere behind him. His underwear followed not long after, and Aziraphale’s erection sprung free.

Crowley took his entire length in his mouth without warning.

“Ah! C-Crowwleyy, yes!” Aziraphale screamed, straining his throat. But he didn’t have any neighbors that could hear him anyway. He watched as Crowley’s head bobbed over his cock, squirming pleasantly under his weight.

Crowley’s skilled tongue slid around the head, pressing against the slit. Aziraphale let out an incoherent sound of approval. When Crowley pulled back, a string of precum clung to his tongue. Aziraphale watched as it slid back inside Crowley’s mouth and was replaced with a wolfish grin.

“I’m going to ruin you, angel.”

“No. You’re going to fuck me right now!” Aziraphale put on his best show, furrowing his brows and jutting out his bottom lip as he hit Crowley with his best pleading look. His hands, balled into fists, were still restrained and his arse clenched against the rough carpet beneath him. He was so dreadfully _empty_. “How long are you going to make me beg?”

Crowley’s eyes shone with amusement, evidently enjoying the show. Leaning back on his knees, he slid a hand under Aziraphale’s back and helped him up.

“Come on then,” he said with all the love that Aziraphale could ever hope for. It filled him with so much warmth. “Off to bed with you.”

Oh but he had something else in mind.

Aziraphale jerked away from the touch, his legs snapping up to encircle Crowley’s waist. “No—!”

Amber eyes widened with shock as the two fell back to the floor in a heap, Aziraphale’s strong thighs locking Crowley in place at the hips, his erection pressed firm against Aziraphale’s stomach.

“No,” Aziraphale repeated more firmly.

Crowley got back up on his elbows, unfocused eyes awestruck as he looked at Aziraphale.

“Here? Are you sure?”

Aziraphale was defiant. Crowley let out a long groan as Aziraphale tightened his legs around him.

“Fuck,” gasped Crowley, dotting kisses to his mouth and chin. “You’re so _hot_. What’re you trying to do to me?”

Crowley sat back up, attempting to unwrap Aziraphale’s legs from around him. He gripped his thighs roughly, nails digging into the flesh.

“I need to prep you, love,” Crowley mumbled, hands shifting to slide soothing caresses over the newly-marked stretch of skin.

Reluctantly, Aziraphale released him.

It couldn’t have been more than half a minute, but the wait until Crowley came back from the bedroom, devoid of underwear and carrying the bottle of lube in his hand felt like the longest moment of his life.

He could feel Crowley’s eyes raking over his entire body. What he must look like right now as a naked, writhing mess on the floor, his arms pinned to his sides by his own shirt, whining desperately as he waited for Crowley to fuck him.

His mind was screaming. _Do it! Just do it already!_

He opened his legs as Crowley knelt back down between his thighs and moaned wantonly.

“If only you could see yourself right now, my angel. So hot and so desperate. My little _slut._ ”

Aziraphale let out another strained yelp as Crowley’s slicked finger slid past his entrance.

His hips snapped upward, trying to get the finger deeper inside him—but to no avail.

“Crowley…”

And because Crowley had always been good at anticipating his needs, he knew exactly what Aziraphale meant.

Crowley’s free arm shot out over the sofa, grabbing one throw pillow and to slide it under Aziraphale’s hips. Aziraphale preened at the added comfort, his eyelids weighing down.

“Shhh, angel, I got you.” Crowley added a second finger, crooking them to press into the bundle of nerves that made him scream Crowley’s name.

He struggled to keep his eyes open, his brows drawn to concentrate deeply on the pleasure coiling inside him, and _Crowley,_ the one who was pleasuring him. God help him, he would never be able to get enough of Crowley. There was a near brutal drive in his head that sought to please and be good to him. Crowley took such great care of him, Aziraphale couldn’t bear the thought of losing him to anything.

“I-I really, really do love you,” Aziraphale babbled, suddenly engrossed in the crack patterns of the ceiling as he felt the press of a third finger against his entrance. “I love you so much, Crowley.”

“I don’t deserve it,” said Crowley as his long fingers thrust into him over and over. “You’re too good for me, angel. But I’ll take it. I’ll take your love and take care of you for the rest of my life.”

If Aziraphale’s mind hadn’t been reeling from being finger-fucked into oblivion, he might have taken that for a proposal.

As it was, Aziraphale only nodded frantically and said “I’m ready, my dear.”

Crowley’s fingers quickly slid out of him. Aziraphale couldn’t help the disappointed groan that slipped past his lips at the sudden emptiness. The carpet singed into his back as he was dragged over the surface so that his knees slung over Crowley’s shoulders.

“Wha—” Aziraphale said in a daze before Crowley’s cock slammed into him in a long thrust.

He yelped against the intrusion, but the burn was so satisfying. He was sure to feel it for a long time. Once fully seated, Crowley paused to let him adjust, stroking Aziraphale’s cheek with one hand as he held onto Aziraphale’s leg with the other.

“You’re so gorgeous like this, love,” Crowley murmured into his skin, pressing a kiss to the side of his thigh. “My angel, you’re so radiant. You put everyone else to shame. So clever and loving. I still can’t believe you’re mine.”

Crowley followed up this speech with another thrust. Aziraphale’s eyes rolled back into his skull, gasping as he hooked his legs around Crowley’s rear, pushing until he bottomed out inside Aziraphale once again.

Crowley stumbled a bit before regaining his balance, chuckling. “God, this angel is so needy.”

Aziraphale unhooked his legs, allowing Crowley to grab his calves and hoisted them over his shoulders again. The angle allowed his prick to bury deeper into Aziraphale, each thrust only building up Aziraphale’s desire for _more_.

He was about to combust. Seeing Crowley like this, his handsome face set in determination as he endeavored to pleasure him, red hair a wild mess over his shoulders, his muscles straining as he dragged his cock in and out of him—nothing could have prepared him for a sight so god damn beautiful. Crowley was so lovely and caring and all _his_. Aziraphale’s fingers twitched in a desperate ache to touch him.

Crowley sped up, brutally snapping his hips. The carpet was beginning to feel less and less comfy under his skin, but all Aziraphale could feel was the curl of heat and arousal deep in the pit of his stomach, Crowley’s passionate grunts filling his ears. He kept making more incoherent sounds as his hands struggled to break free from the restraint. There was the faint sound of fabric ripping, but neither of them paid it any mind.

“My beautiful angel,” growled Crowley, his eyes clamped shut as he kept his pace, hands squeezing his thighs. Aziraphale could tell he was close. “You feel so good. And these _thighs_ , fuck! I could stay between them for hours.”

Aziraphale moaned at the praise. Crowley was taking his pleasure out of him now. The sight of it was nearly unbearable.

“C-can I come with you, my love?” Aziraphale asked as he watched Crowley get even more lost into his own sensations and he began to feel the ache of his own untouched cock. “Please let me.”

Crowley’s eyes shot open, and Aziraphale could see all the love they held as Crowley’s mouth fell open and he began to pump Aziraphale’s cock.

It didn’t take long before both of them reached their climax, Crowley’s hips rutting against his as he filled Aziraphale with his seed. Aziraphale spurted all over his stomach and chest, his entire body going limp.

With a heavily sated sigh, Crowley set his legs back onto the floor and crashed right on top of him.

Their bodies heaved up and down with deep, shaky breathing. Aziraphale pressed his nose into the coiled snake tattoo near Crowley’s ear, inhaling deeply.

“Oh god, Crowley,” he whispered, as he was uncertain if his vocal cords still worked. “That was…”

“Yeah,” Crowley agreed readily, his entire body weighing down on Aziraphale’s. “Fucking hell, angel, that was amazing.”

“I don’t even know _how_ to describe it.”

Crowley chuckled and kissed his neck. Once he gathered back enough of his wits, he pushed himself off and helped Aziraphale into a sitting position.

Aziraphale’s back stung as it was hit with a gush of cold air. He winced as Crowley tugged his wrists free from the shirt which, much to Aziraphale’s shock, now had a long tear right in the middle.

“Crowley! I liked that shirt!”

Crowley held the rumpled light blue fabric in his hand, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I like it too, now.”

Aziraphale glared. Unconsciously, he rubbed a hand over his left wrist and looked down to see angry red gashes over the skin of both his forearms. Crowley followed his gaze.

“Oh, good lord."

“Wow…” said Crowley unhelpfully.

“M-my back…”

Crowley instantly leapt up to hover over his shoulder. Aziraphale grit his teeth against the sting as his hand ran down the length of Aziraphale’s spine.

“Red as a lobster, angel,” said Crowley, trailing his hand back up over the carpet burns on his skin. “Christ, why didn’t you say anything?”

“Well, to be honest, I didn’t exactly _feel_ anything at the time.”

Crowley pressed a kiss onto his shoulder. “I should probably get you a towel.”

Aziraphale bit back a smile. “So much for making love to me.”

“Hey!” Crowley scolded. “You asked for this! I wanted to take you to bed!”

The panic was evident in Crowley’s strained voice and Aziraphale leaned back to cradle his face with his newly freed hands.

He pressed a kiss to Crowley’s nose. “Yes, my love, I did ask for this. And you’ve done so well. Thank you.”

Unconventional as it had been, Crowley _did_ make love to him. His love left burns on his skin, marks over his wrists, and a lingering gait in his step from his sore bum.

 _Yes_ , he sighed as he let the stinging and the soreness wash over him. He was so, so _loved_.

Crowley blinked in confusion for a few moments before letting out a sigh of relief.

“Still, I’m sorry. I’ll try to be more gentle next time.”

“Don’t you dare.”

Crowley let out an amused grin.

“Right. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

* * *

After they cleaned up as best they could, Aziraphale lay down with Crowley on his bed, running his fingers over his arm. There was sparse lighting coming from the lamp on his nightstand, but as Crowley curled on his side to look at him, Aziraphale’s eyes were still drawn to his bruised cheek.

He frowned at it as if frowning would make it go away.

Crowley laughed as he realized what he was doing. “It’s fine, angel. It’s not gonna kill me.”

Aziraphale leaned in for a kiss, and Crowley let him.

“Move in with me.”

Crowley seemed to choke on his spit. “I— _what?_ ”

Aziraphale trailed his lips over to his cheek, sighing. “Just a thought. You don’t have to, but it would make me ever so happy.”

Crowley gave a light push to his shoulder to look him in the face.

“Where’s all this coming from? Are you drunk?”

Aziraphale huffed. “You were with me all night, you buffoon. I’m not drunk. You obviously don’t have any plans to look for a house and I’d much rather have you here than in some hotel where there’s no one to look after you.”

Crowley’s face lit up with shock and wonder.

“Only if you’re sure, angel. I’m not a very pleasant housemate.”

“I’m sure you have ways to make it up to me,” replied Aziraphale cheekily, squeezing Crowley’s arse.

A light blush made its way onto Crowley’s face. “Y-yeah. Sure, then. No big deal.”

Aziraphale hugged him tight and snuggled into his chest. “And while we’re being honest, I would like to clarify—we are an item now, aren’t we? Would you say we’re boyfriends?”

“Eh, I mean, ‘course we’re an _item_. D’you think I’d let anyone else have you after all that?” His arm came to wrap possessively around Aziraphale’s shoulder. “But ‘boyfriend’ sounds so weird, don’t you think? Think I’m way too old for that.”

“Don’t say that,” Aziraphale admonished. “I’m older than you. Imagine how I feel.”

“We’re around the same age, angel. No need to go all preachy on me. I’m saying we’re both too old for it.”

“Do you think that’s something to worry about?”

He felt rather than saw Crowley shrugging. “Just doesn’t have a nice ring to it. Not as nice as ‘husbands’ _._ ”

And here, because Aziraphale’s mind had already settled from oblivion, his head snapped up in shock.

“Did you just _propose_ , Crowley?”

It wouldn’t even have made a half-decent proposal. Crowley could have easily shrugged it off as a joke and Aziraphale wouldn’t have questioned it. After all, Aziraphale only meant it lightly.

But the scarlet flush spreading all over Crowley’s face to the tips of his ears said he meant otherwise.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale pressed a palm to his cheek. “Oh, love. Do talk to me.”

“I-I-I’m not saying right now, Aziraphale!” Crowley stammered, his heated face burning Aziraphale’s palm. “Just that, I’ve thought about it, okay?”

“You have?” Aziraphale slid his hand to caress his hair.

Crowley nodded nervously. “Again it’s no pressure. Absolutely none. It could be ages from now but I just know, okay? You’re it for me.”

Crowley had shut his eyes to avoid looking at him.

There was an ache in Aziraphale’s chest as all the love he had for Crowley poured out of him. He was certain Crowley could feel it as if it were a warm embrace. He beamed.

“Open your eyes, my love.”

Crowley did, his features relaxing as he took in Aziraphale’s expression.

“You are the one for me too,” said Aziraphale sincerely. “The fact that you envision me being in your future makes me very happy. You shouldn’t be ashamed of it.”

Crowley tightened his arm around him, tucking his face into his shoulder and sighing.

“How are you so perfect? How did I get so lucky?”

Aziraphale patted his head, giggling softly. “Now stop spouting nonsense and go to sleep.”

He could already sense Crowley nodding off. Surely the night’s activities have worn him out. He clung tightly to Aziraphale, a leg hooked over his hip. As Crowley’s breathing slowed over his shoulder, Aziraphale thought back to the present that he left in the sitting room.

It felt so right, having Crowley here. Crowley, who cared enough about his books. Who encouraged him to restart his dreams. What better option was there?

How does one improve on what is already, in every single way, perfect?

Aziraphale pressed a kiss onto his ear. “Darling,” he whispered, taking in a steadying breath. Crowley stirred in his arms. “Let’s do it.”

“Hmm?”

He kissed Crowley’s temple and placed another over his eyelid, which shot open in response. “Angel…” Crowley mumbled sleepily. “What’re you saying…”

Aziraphale spoke before he could lose his courage. “Get married, I mean. Let’s do it.”

Crowley was wide awake in a flash, limbs wildly scrambling away from Aziraphale’s hold.

“Is this a dream?” he inquired, gasping.

Aziraphale shook his head. “Do be more sensible, dearest. I’m continuing a previous line of conversation.”

“If you’re making fun of me—”

“I’m not! I would never make fun of you for that, Crowley.”

“Then why?”

Aziraphale grew suddenly shy. “Do you not want to?”

“ _Hngk._ It’s not that I don’t want to. But honestly you didn’t even realize we’ve been dating for weeks so I’m a bit concerned about your sense of judgment.”

Aziraphale would’ve shot him a deathly glare were he not too embarrassed for it.

“Fine. Forget I said anything then.” He shut his eyes to begin the process of feigning sleep until he actually did sleep, his cheeks hot with shame. Crowley shook his shoulder.

“I’m not saying no, you idiot. Just wanna know _why_.”

Aziraphale allowed himself to look at him. Finding no mirth in his features, his heart began to pound in his chest.

“To be honest, I usually have many words to say about these things. I’m quite good with words.”

“I know,” Crowley replied fondly.

“But in this case, I have no explanation other than it just feels right.”

Crowley placed a lingering kiss to his forehead. “You think so?”

Aziraphale’s heart soared with hope and euphoria. “I do. It seems strange that we’re doing everything out of order, but my life has never even begun to make sense until I met you.”

“Who ever says there’s a pattern to these things anyway?”

“I mean, like you said, we don’t have to do it right away. I will want to work on the bookshop first, and that might take a while, but we’ll put it in the plans.”

“I’ve been thinking of retiring soon too.”

“You have?”

Crowley shrugged. “Just feels like there’s not much else for me to do there. Maybe I’ll bum around in here and grow some plants.”

The image brought a delighted smile to Aziraphale’s lips. They were making a _home_ together.

“My dear, that sounds lovely.”

Crowley gazed down at him, face breaking out into a dopey grin of his own. “So you’ll do it? Quit your job and open up a new bookshop here in Tadfield?”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but mirror his expression. “Yes, I… I think I will.”

“I’m proud. I’ll support you every step of the way, love.”

“That’s really comforting,” said Aziraphale, rubbing his hand over Crowley’s arm, feeling that everything was going right. “I don’t think I can do it all over again by myself.”

“You won’t ever have to be alone again, angel. Not as long as you’ll have me.”

Aziraphale kissed the corner of his mouth, still smiling. “Just you wait until we’re married. You’ll surely get tired of me then.”

“That’s impossible. Could never get tired of you. And even if I did—” Crowley ran his hand over his hip and landed a slap over his arse. Aziraphale let out a surprised yelp “—I’m sure you have other ways of making it up to me.”

**END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading <3 I hope you enjoyed this story! I think I grew a lot as a writer while working on this. My next multichapter project is another human AU, this time a college AU! If you're into that kind of thing, I hope you watch out for when I post it soon !! 
> 
> It's been a pleasure! Come chill with me on twitter https://twitter.com/angelsnuffbox

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Tadfield's Finest fanart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26374564) by [Patolozka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Patolozka/pseuds/Patolozka)




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